


Promenons-nous dans les bois

by TheWritingSquid



Series: Disaster Dad [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Poetry, Campfires, Camping, Contains Dante's Ass To Lady's Great Dismay, Dadgil, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Hiking, Poetry Games, Shameless Infiltration of a French Hiking Song, Summer Vacation, Toddler!Nero, potty training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Vergil, Dante, and Nero go on a family camping trip at an idyllic spot Dante noticed while on a hunt. Lady joins in, intent on cleaning out the nearby shrine for artifacts she and Dante had left behind. On the menu: campfires, hiking, a quick dip in the river, and so much more! But tensions born back home follow them even into the forest, and they will need to learn to work around them if they want to enjoy the trip.





	1. Failure to Stay Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to some intense fluff with the occasional chunks of angst, inspired by my 10-day stay at a cabin near a lake! This is the second fic in the Disaster Dad AU, and I do recommend reading #1 (Little Monster) first. It stands on its own, but you'd be missing the intro to the series.

The camping site was less a mess than Vergil had expected. He had to give it to Dante, that was definitely enough room for two tents and a campfire, and the cliffside on their left would shield them from view. The clearing felt cozy, a nook in the forest designed just for them, with a gentle slope towards a tiny beach area, the lake spreading at their feet. Getting here had been quite the trek--even splitting the weight between three adults, food and equipment for two full nights had meant a solid burden, especially when Nero tired of walking and demanded to be carried. At least Dante, Lady, and him all had strength beyond most humans. 

Which didn't mean he wasn't glad to put Nero down when they finally reached the site. The child sprinted off with a gleeful squeal, and Dante burst out laughing.

"Wait up, kiddo! Ya gotta help your da' unpack, remember?" 

Nero stopped and turned around, his big smile replaced by a pout. "But I wanna explore!"

Vergil pinched the bridge of his nose. They had built a tiny pack with Nero's toys, including new ones for the beach, along with key hiking items like his own water bottle, and Vergil had made him promise he would be the one to unpack. It was mostly a way to occupy him long enough to get a few basics going, after which Vergil was convinced Dante would abandon them to show him around.

"Soon, Nero, and your zio can go with you."

Dante spun to face him, grinning with surprised joy, his eyebrows up in a hopeful "really? I get to play too?" silent question. Vergil rolled his eyes; he really was as much a child as Nero, sometimes. But this was Spardaghetti day, in theory, and still late afternoon. Occupying Nero was Dante's expected role.

"Great, so I'm stuck setting up tents with you," Lady complained, setting her large pack down. "I don't know why I signed up for this."

"Here I thought you expected to turn a profit out of the expedition," Vergil said, a quirk in his eyebrows.

That had been her excuse, as usual. Lady and Dante had discovered the camping site while clearing out a demon nest in a hidden shrine, another two hours of walk away. She pretended there might be artifacts or demon parts that could be resold in it, so she planned on returning there tomorrow to clean it up, which meant she might as well camp with them, right? So Vergil had rolled his eyes and warned her she couldn't piggyback on their resources for free, as if he wasn't glad to have someone around to help handle Dante and Nero for the next two days. They'd debated who was profiting off the other over the phone, until it was settled that Lady's manual labour amply compensated for the extra food, and no money would be exchanged. _This time_ , Lady had added, as if that wasn't the conclusion on almost every single one of her visits the last two months, the two of them carefully balancing their relationship act into a string of mutually beneficial encounters.

Lady ignored him to drink deeply from her water bottle, so he instead unstrapped Nero's little pack and handed it to his son, crouching down.

"There is a little box you can fold inside. It's to store the toys. Remember, if you lose anything here, it'll be gone forever. Per sempre."

Nero wrapped his tiny hands around the straps of his bag and gave his father a solemn nod. "Per sempre!"

Then he was off, a bounce to his steps as he ran across the clearing, plopping down right where it started sloping towards the beach. Vergil reminded himself it was normal for his brand new clothes to get dirty, that he had bought the navy blue shorts and red shirt exactly for this, that Nero was bound to roll around in sand and dirt or sprint through forest undergrowth, but he still cringed at the stains already on the boy's clothes. Nero had only been in his life for half a year and Vergil was already rebudgeting everything to compensate make up for the ridiculous clothing expenses. Sooner or later, his funds would run out and he'd need to figure out a better income--a consideration that hadn't stopped him from buying all the camping gear needed to keep Nero comfortable and happy, of course.

Vergil set to work unpacking the tent, a large four-person acquisition he'd made sure to strap to Dante's pack, and he handed his twin the poles to assemble while he spread the fabric out and searched for instructions--a mistake that earned him the endless teasing of his two companions. While Dante and Lady were busy mocking him, however, he insured he had every piece necessary; he refused to be swindled by the outdoor equipment shop any more than he did by Lady. She did concede that point, and the three of them set to work, Vergil regularly glancing Nero's way to verify his little monster hadn't run away. The foldable box seemed to give him problems--it had been a stretch for a child his age--so Vergil caught his twin's attention and nodded towards Nero. 

"I'll finish here. Go help him."

He didn't like the pout on Nero's face, the obvious growing frustration. Nero hated failing at anything, and Vergil thanked his luck the child learned most things quickly, because those he didn't… Teaching him to use the toilet was proving a challenge, and they'd made next to no progress over the last two months. Nero just wouldn't sit still long enough to get anywhere, and by now he hated the tiny toilet bowl, and any suggestion he should be trying to use it was liable to start a tantrum. Vergil had hoped two days of camping without it could serve as a reset button, because the last week had been Hell on both of them--enough that even the shadow of angry tears sent his heart racing. He'd much rather lose Dante's help with the tent earlier than deal with Nero's crying again.

Dante set off with a cheerful "you got it" and casually strode to Nero, helping him fold the box before digging into the pack. Vergil forced himself to focus on the task at hand, to relax and stop checking on his child, soon to be loose in a brand new environment with nothing but his irresponsible uncle to keep him safe. It'd be fine. Dante knew the area, knew Vergil was counting on him. Nothing dangerous would happen, and Nero would be having fun and discovering things, not getting hurt or running into challenges beyond his age. It was _fine._ He hammered in the tents, driving the plastic hooks into the ground with more force than necessary, then searched his own pack for the mattresses. He'd just spread them out to let them inflate when Dante's happy yell reached him.

"Last one in the water is a coward!"

Vergil's heart leaped into his throat and he scrambled out of the tent. "Dante, no!"

The water would be cold and they hadn't bought a bathing suit and Nero would be all wet and--it was too late. He stumbled out in time to watch his toddler sprint directly into the water, _his shoes still on_ , and then fall face-first at the unexpected resistance of water. Dante had taken the time to kick off his boots, and was about to shed his coat when the splash happened. With a resounding _"fuck!"_ , he hurried in and swooped Nero up. 

"Woah there, speedy, you're supposed to remove a few things first."

Nero's hair stuck to his forehead and he coughed, but despite his wet clothes and the gulp of water that must have made it into his lungs, he was grinning. Vergil's lungs unwound, allowing a first breath in, then a second, until his fear had given way to anger. He pounded the ground as he headed towards the shore, stopping at the top of the slope.

"What were you thinking, Dante?"

"He said he liked water!"

"He's three and he can't swim!" How was that not the first thing to cross his brother's mind? Did he think children magically did _not_ sink to the bottom of the water?

"Yeah, yeah, relax! I'm holding him now. He's fine." Dante lifted Nero up and set him on his shoulders. "You're fine, aren't you, kiddo?"

Nero was looking around with wide eyes, and there was a hint of fear under that smile--enough for Vergil to decide they'd best cancel this whole around-the-water thing. Except Nero's expression changed to one of determination, and the child pushed a hand through his hair, inadvertently slicking it back.

"I am fine. I like water. I wanna go back."

He kicked his little feet and water flew out of his drenched sneakers, but Vergil barely noticed. He could only stare at the miniature version of himself perched on Dante's shoulders, the resemblance suddenly striking with the hair and the defiant expression. He had only ever noticed Nero's puffed cheeks, yet now he saw the pointed chin and nose they shared, the way they both frowned at the world when it wouldn't work how they wanted, and a warm pride filled his chest, completely deflating his anger. Nero was already drenched, anyway. He might as well draw the most fun out of it.

Vergil sighed. "All right. But you stay in your zio's arms, Nero. Water is dangerous."

"Is not," Nero protested.

Dante snorted and ruffled the hair, bringing it back down. "Your da's right. Water's only safe if we're around. Ya stick to me and we'll have plenty of fun though!"

Plenty of fun while his father worried he'd turn his back for five minutes to find his child had drowned. Vergil glared at Dante one last time, but his brother just ignored it, wading in deeper into the lake, his red coat floating behind. Once he had water to his chest, he plunged a fully-clothed Nero back into the lake, keeping the child's head above water level. Nero kept giggling, tiny arms splashing around, making it really hard to stay angry. With a sigh, Vergil turned back to their campsite, only to discover Lady had finished setting up her own tent _and_ the rest of his. 

"I'm not paying you for the help," he warned her. "Let's get a fire going. I sense we will have clothes to dry and a freezing toddler on our hands before long."

"On _yours_ , you mean," she corrected, setting a hand on her hip. "But fires are a decent idea. I'll get wood; you set up a clothesline and a stone ring."

She didn't wait for his agreement--Lady never waited on their permission for anything, really. Vergil watched her disappear between the trees, stretching out almost lazily, wishing he could be half as relaxed as she seemed. From the moment Dante had first suggested camping, Vergil's mind had provided him with all the ways it could go wrong, all the accidents that could happen to Nero. He didn't used to be like this; when he'd raised the Temen-ni-gru, the very idea of failure had seemed ludicrous. The world had belonged to him, if he only dared to face it head on. Now… Now he had someone to protect, and every minute he feared he would lack the foresight and capability to do so properly. Part of him had wanted to refuse this camping trip, but he couldn't keep Nero cooped up forever, and they'd both needed the time off. Vergil closed his eyes and soaked in his son's happy laughter for a time, allowing that to reassure him in his decision, before setting to work to ensure he could take care of the child once Dante was done with his impromptu swim.

****

###

****

When Nero's teeth started chattering so hard they covered his laughter, Dante figured it was a good time to get out of the super freezing lake. Kid's lips were kinda turning blue, anyway, and he doubted that was good. His arms were getting sore from plunging Nero up and down, or pulling his tiny body along so it'd make waves, or just holding him steady while he kicked at the water and sent it splashing. Kid might not know how to swim yet, but they ought to get him floaters and fling him into swimming pools more, 'cause he sure was playing relentlessly. At least Dante was doing the "tire him out" part of the job well enough. Vergil was gonna give him an earful about the wet shoes though (about the wet _everything_ , really).

He pulled Nero back to the shore, keeping his body underwater (it'd be warmer, there was a shitty breeze freezing his chest) for as long as he could, and grinned when he found a warm towel (only one) and a change of clothes for Nero waiting for them. Dante heaved the kid out the water, snapped the towel up and wrapped it around him, set Nero on his shoulders and then picked up the clothes, striding to a more grassy area. Vergil and Lady were busying themselves around the fire and tents (it looked like dinner, and he was starving!), so it probably fell to him to dress up the kid again. Which, fair--he'd gotten him all wet, after all. He set his little towel bundle down and sat next to Nero, his own red coat and pants soaking wet.

"All right, lil' bud, time to strip."

Nero's teeth clattered in answer, and the poor dude looked a little lost, so Dante helped him out, pulling out shoes and socks first, then the red t-shirt clinging to his torso, and finally his pants. When he noticed the new diapers under, all fancy and almost like tiny normal underwear, he grinned.

"Hey, you movin' up in the world, buddy! Those are new. You like 'em?"

Nero frowned. "N-no."

"Why not?" Instead of an answer, Nero gave a full body shiver, so Dante grabbed the towel, wrapped him in it again, and pulled him closer. "C'mere, lemme dry you off." 

He started rubbing Nero, giving the poor freezing kid time to collect his thoughts. "I don't like the toilet. It's _boring_." 

Dante snorted. "Sure is, kiddo. Ya get your da' to tell you a story or play."

"He says… focus." Nero offered a little pout of concentration, his brow knitting, and it was all Dante could do to keep himself from laughing. That sounded just like Vergil.

"Tell you what… We put on this dry spankin' new one, and you try an' keep it that way as long as you can. When you got all your pee at the ready, come and tell your zio. I'll make it fun."

Nero's widened, then after a moment of hesitation, he nodded. "All my pee?" he repeated.

"Everything you can keep, yeah!" Dante confirmed with a wide grin. It earned him a smile, so that was probably good? He really didn't like to see Nero all pouty and sad. It didn't suit him (and it made Vergil grim, and Dante had really started to enjoy all the soft smiles on his brother's face when he was around this kid).

Dante helped the kid slip into his new training diaper, then comfy jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a thoroughly adorable red hoodie with devil horns on top. He grinned as he flicked them, certain Nero had picked that one up. That kind of cute irony was totally lost on his brother. Nero immediately pulled his hood up and shoved his hands into… were those claw-like gloves attached to the sleeves for his tiny hands? That was _too_ adorable!

"Hell yeah, kid! You look like danger."

Nero giggled and _rawred_ at him--a sound Dante couldn't imagine Vergil making, even alone with Nero. He grinned and picked the tiny devil up, perching him once more on his shoulders (the only entirely dry part of him left, honestly). Vergil turned as he approached, away from the pot of boiling spaghetti on Lady's camping burner. He gave Nero an appraising once over, then set his spoon down to trade for the kid.

" _Your_ pack of clothes is on the single mattress. I trust every part of Nero is dry?"

"Down to his tiny lil' toes," Dante confirmed. "Might still be a bit cold though, even under the devil-hot hoodie."

He could feel the kid shaking a bit still, even if Nero wasn't saying anything. The sun was creeping behind the cliff, so that wasn't exactly a big surprise. Vergil scowled and lifted Nero from him, distractedly rubbing his arms.

"Had fun, Nero?"

"I was a fish!" Nero declared with a grin. "I like water."

Dante grinned. He'd repeated the fish thing a couple of times, and clearly the kid had liked it. "See? No problem at all." Vergil glared at him, a warning that his mishaps from earlier wasn't forgotten yet (would it ever be, really?). Which, honestly, how was he supposed to know Nero would just run straight into the water without undressing? Kid was usually more intelligent than that. Still… better not push his luck. He was stuck with Vergil for the next two days. 

"I'll change quick and dirty and take him off your arms again, dontcha worry. Smells good."

"It's only pasta, Dante," Vergil replied, squeezing Nero a little tighter, like he didn't want Dante to come back and keep him busy. "Even you could cook this."

"Don't bet on that!" Lady called from the fireplace. "If you're gonna leave dinner under his supervision, I'll take over. I'd rather not starve."

"Aw, c'mon! I ain't that bad," Dante protested. 

"You made a microwave explode, Dante," she reminded him.

"Just the one time!" He had been too hangover to remember to remove the foil around his pizza (he usually shoved them direct in the fridge, when he bothered with a fridge at all, so Lady probably had stored this one). Now she never let him forget.

Vergil set a hand on his chest and declared in a solemn tone. "Please step away from the camping stove. We'll handle this."

Dante huffed while Lady burst out laughing. Not that he minded not having to cook, but these two teaming up to mock him? Now that wasn't fair at all.

"Fine, whatever!" he declared, stalking off fast enough, hoping his coat would briefly flare behind him and allow him to depart in style. That was without counting on the water still dragging it down; it flopped pitifully after Dante, drawing a snicker even from Vergil.

Maybe the impromptu swim had been a mistake after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are!! It is now the end of summer, and our weird little family is gonna have the time of their lives.


	2. Marshmallows and Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nero discovers the joys of campfires and marshmallows, and new games are invented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS UPDATE!
> 
> I kept referencing to this particular chapter in the other DMC Gen Week fics that are part of this series, so have it now. We'll be back on Sunday with Chapter 3. ^^

Camping or not, today was Spardaghetti day, and Vergil made sure they all had their pasta. He helped Nero eat for the first time in months, holding his plate steady so it wouldn't all fly to the ground, but the child was so distracted by the fire he kept forgetting to take the next bite. When Vergil started insisting--he wasn't eating while he had to hold Nero's--his son snapped back and slammed the fork down, pretending he wasn't hungry, that he didn't even like pastas, that he didn't want to eat.

"You've been eating pastas every week for the last six months," Vergil retorted. "Exactly those."

"No more!" Nero tried to flick the plastic plate, but Vergil hadn't let go yet. 

" _Nero_." Why was he like this? They hadn't had this particular fight about food in over two weeks now! Vergil had thought Nero was finally done acting like he didn't enjoy eating anything and everything just to anger him. He wasn't a difficult child, food-wise, he was a moody one. Except he'd just played with Dante, and that normally put him in a good headspace. Vergil studied him for a moment--pout and heavy lids and refusal to meet his eyes--and suddenly realised in the excitement of their preparations, they'd skipped his nap. He'd slept a little in the car on the way, but nowhere near enough. Vergil pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to try to send him to bed now, however.

"Pasta è il cibo, Nero, and if you want marshmallows, then you'll eat it," he said, keeping his voice firm. "But, here, camping special." He slid half of Nero's plate into his own, then handed it back. "Eat this."

Nero frowned at his plate still, then looked up at Vergil. "What is… marshmallow?"

Dante whistled. "Marshmallows are _life_ , kiddo. They're sweet and melty and crunchy if ya cook 'em right. Ya don't wanna miss out!"

Lady snorted at his exaggerated description. "I bet you burn them."

"Of course he does," Vergil confirmed. He distinctly remembered Dante placing his flaming marshmallows under Vergil's just so they, too, would catch on fire.

Nero looked between all of them, then back at his plate. "I wanna marshmallows," he declared, and then he was eating with determination.

By the time he was done, Vergil's own plate had gone cold, but he didn't care. Nero already seemed a little more awake and more enthusiastic, and he ran over to Dante, demanding his marshmallows _now_. Lady indicated where they were stored, and his brother--who'd already had more than one serving anyway--went digging through their food for the prized dessert. While Lady used a particularly thick branch to rearrange the fire, preparing red hot embers for them, Nero watched in silence, utterly mesmerized by the dance of the flames. Nothing but the sounds of nature disturbed the silence--the lapping of the waves, the crackling of fire, the wind rustling through the leaves--and Vergil watched the changing light on Nero's absorbed expression, half concealed by his favourite hoodie--how the embers caught in his bright blue eyes and his cheeks flushed from the heat. His little monster. _His son._

Tight knots of stress Vergil had never noticed released themselves along his neck, his shoulders, his stomach--only, it seemed to reform in his throat immediately. It was difficult to believe in this moment, in his _luck_. Vergil had never been lucky; he was dedicated, stubborn, and skillful, but not lucky. Yet looking at Nero now, it was hard to feel anything but.

Then Dante let out a whoop of victory and trudged back to the fire, breaking the strange spell. 

"I got 'em!" He plopped back down next to Nero, then shoved three marshmallows one after the other on a long stick. "Lemme show you how it's done, kid!"

He shoved them directly into the fire, ignoring the embers set out by Lady, and Nero squealed when they burst into flames. 

"This is why we don't let you cook, Dante," Lady pointed out.

Dante grinned at her and let the fire eat around the marshmallows before blowing it out and offering the first to Nero--who promptly tried to gobble it, only to yelp in surprise. Vergil's heart jumped at the sound, but Nero just tried again immediately, and Dante pulled it away with a laugh.

"Ya gotta blow on 'em, my man," he said, showing him how, before placing the stick nearer. 

This time, Nero grabbed the stick in his small hands before shoving it all in his mouth. He let out enthusiastics _hmm_ of delight, incapable of a full squeal, then pulled Dante's stick to try and get the second one to fit in his mouth. Mostly, this put melted marshmallow all over his face and fingers, and Vergil made a mental note to clean him up before bed. Right now it would be pointless: Nero was already clamouring for more.

Dante and Lady provided while Vergil finished his meal, gathered the dirty plates, then went to the lake to get the worse of the spaghetti sauce off. He listened Nero's bright laughter as he washed them off, wishing he was already back at the fire, its heat warming his face, his own marshmallow slowly turning golden over the embers. Vergil looked down at the plates in his hands and the pots beside him, the stains barely visible in the moonlight, then glanced back at the camp. Then, knowing full well he would regret it in the morning, he stopped the dishes, gathered them all up, and joined everyone again. Nero was sitting next to Lady now, and he grinned at him as he stepped back into the light, and the big and wide smile sent shocking warmth coursing through Vergil--these were usually reserved for Zio Dante.

"Da'!" Nero exclaimed, and he proffered the stick in his hand, a perfectly cooked golden-brown marshmallow right at the end.

"Did you… cook that, Nero?" he asked, his gaze flicking to Lady, whose smug expression was confirmation enough.

Nero nodded and gave a little shake to the stick, which was almost as long as he was tall. "For you."

Vergil's heart might have stopped there for a second. Or ten. Long enough that it felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe, and think, and do anything except beam at his small child, who was staring at him expectantly, the way he did when offering nonsensical drawings to him. _Gratitude is heaven itself_ , Blake had written, and in this single instant, Vergil understood the depths of the sentiment.

"Grazie, Nero," he said, crouching close and retrieving the stick. "It's exactly how I love them. You will have to show me."

It _was_ perfect, though if Vergil was honest with himself, he might have reached this conclusion even had his little monster handed him the charred messes Dante still dared to call marshmallows. It wasn't the sweetness on his tongue, the way the sugar both melted and stuck to his palate, the warmth down his throat as he swallowed--it was the quiet love in Nero's gift, the thoughtfulness his son rarely displayed, not for him. Vergil let it all sink in as he ate, then ran a hand under the hoodie, through the soft white hair.

"It's delicious," he whispered.

Nero grinned and came back to sit in his lap, explaining in an almost haughty tone the technique Lady had shown him no more than a few minutes ago, trying to hold the long stick close to the embers without touching them. Lady and Dante were doing their best not to laugh while Vergil steadied Nero's grip, pretending he needed to hold it, too, if he was to learn. When the marshmallow took fire, Nero ate it; when they successfully roasted it gold, he insisted Vergil should have it. Each new attempt was a challenge Nero clearly set his entire focus on, but as the night wore on, he grew more and more jittery from a combination of fatigue and sugar rush, until he nodded off with the stick in hands, slamming the marshmallow directly into the embers.

"Oops…" Nero muttered. 

"That's all right, Nero. I think we all had enough." Vergil silenced Dante with a glare before his brother, one hand in the near-empty bag, could protest. With a pout, Dante set it down and instead gestured at Lady for the flask she'd broken out earlier, and which Vergil suspected did not contain water. "It's well past your bedtime, too."

"I don't wanna sleep. I like fire."

"You can sleep right here by the fire," Vergil suggested, half because he had no desire to fight his half-asleep toddler, half because it would mean sleeping in his lap, and Nero's warm weight against his chest and in the crook of his crossed legs felt like another reason to call himself lucky. 

Vergil always insisted on their routine at home, yet what was camping for if not special permissions? Hopefully Nero would not make him regret it down the line. For now, he nestled closer into Vergil's arms, bringing his tiny, utterly dirty socks on him. Vergil pushed the marshmallow stick deeper into the fire, then wrapped his arms around Nero's body. When he looked up, both Dante and Lady were staring at him, mouth half open. The heat that flushed to Vergil's cheeks had nothing to do with the fire nearby.

"What is it?" he demanded, voice as cold and hard as he could make it.

Dante grinned. "Was just thinkin' how much like my marshmallows you are. All soft and warm and melty on the inside."

Lady choked down a laugh. "But crusty and ugly on the outside?"

Vergil scoffed, but he couldn't help the ghost of a smile. "Please never try your hand at poetry, brother."

This triggered a much louder laugh from Lady, and Vergil cringed at the volume of it, but Nero didn't budge. Still, he tugged the hoodie back on, hoping it would muffle some of the surrounding sounds. Dante was mumbling about how this was why he never bothered with compliments, and Vergil stiffened, pushing down his urge to snap back. Dante didn't give him compliments because he didn't _think_ of any--they were night and day, the two of them, only coexisting peacefully in brief instants, but otherwise unable to stand each other. He needed Dante, and hated him, and loved him all at once. A few months had passed since they'd edged back into each other's lives, and Vergil still couldn't tell which of these truths burned the brightest. They cycled, but Nero remained through all of it, a constant reminder that Vergil's feelings on the matter no longer primed.

"You want a drink, Vergil?" Lady offered, giving her flask a small shake.

He broke away from his thoughts, wondering how much of them had been written over his face. He ought to be more careful. "I'm not sure I want to pay your price."

"Dinner duty for tomorrow's on you, too?" she suggested. Not too steep a price, almost suspiciously so. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she shrugged. "It's cheap booze. Strong but cheap."

He shouldn't. Alcohol did not agree with him; he had learned this the hard way, once, almost eight years ago. But… perhaps it had been the circumstances. He had been in a difficult place, a teenager still without a goal in sight, his mind and body battered by yet another stand against Mundus's hordes, memories of a blood-soaked snow field clinging to him and his most recent brush with death pounded into his soul. Living had felt pointless, then, an act of sheer spite and pride, one to which no one but Mundus and himself bore witness. He fought on because he couldn't bear to lose, because the Yamato had saved him, awakening his true form when he was but a child, yet for the first time he'd wanted to forget what drove him and erase the pain--for the first time, he'd wanted to fall asleep without echoes of demons in pursuit, of his own childish screams. It'd worked--a single glass had knocked him right out--but he'd been in such a terrible state the following morning, he'd quickly understood any further drinking would crush his chances of survival.

But he didn't need to _survive_ anymore, did he? And what was camping for, if not special permission?

Vergil gestured for the flask and eyed it for a moment, mentally toasting--to resilience, and to his family. Then he drank, long and hard, letting the liquid burn down his throat and spin his head while his two companions cheered.

****

###

****

Somehow Dante had been convinced Vergil didn't drink. He was too stiff for that, too stingy and disciplined, too in love with _control_. It hadn't even occurred to Dante he ought to offer him a sip, that he might want in. Watching him throw his head back and down the flask now, though, gave Dante only one conclusion: either Vergil knew exactly what he was doing, or he had no fucking clue. Either way, this was gonna be _awesome._

Dante cheered, and Lady laughed, only to then motion for the flask. "Woah, hey, keep some for us, demon dad!"

Vergil brought the flask back down, short on breath, tears pricking his eyes. He capped the flask and flung it back at Lady in a dismissive movement, his other arm never giving up his hold on Nero. The kid was so fast asleep, Dante wasn't certain he'd notice if he fell face-first to the ground (would be kinda funny to test it out, though). Slowly, Vergil settled his chin on top of Nero's head, closed his eyes, and exhaled.

"You gonna be ok, bro?" Dante asked.

Vergil had this air about him, like the world was about to unravel under his feet and he didn't know how to stop it. Like he didn't quite care about it, either. It was weird. Dante wasn’t sure he liked it.

"Of course," Vergil retorted with familiar self-assured coldness.

"Thought maybe the marshmallows had been too much," Dante said. "Sugar rush is for people who know how to have fun, after all!"

Vergil cracked his eyes open. "I know how to have fun."

Lady snorted. "Can't wait to see proof of that."

Dante knew a challenge when he heard one, and his face split into a grin when Vergil perked up, his chin lifting and his icy stare turning to Lady. He knew, too. 

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Lady met his glare head on and smirked. "Exactly what it says on the cover, Mister Power. I can't wait to see proof you know how to have fun."

"Watch it, Lady, he'll quote some hellish poetry at you and call _that_ fun."

Vergil snorted, and his entire body went stick-in-the-ass straight, which was hilarious because he swayed a little from the movement. Damn, that drunk already? Dante was a little woozy around the edges, but he and Lady had started way ahead of Vergil. It looked like Vergil had just needed that first swing to sink in a little to lose ground to the booze (so, he probably had _no idea_ what the fuck he was doing after all).

"Poetry _is_ fun."

The fact Vergil could state this with a straight face--and believe it, too!--was perhaps the most hilarious part of his reaction. When Dante burst out laughing, he received a deliciously angry glare. Vergil huffed.

"Just because _your_ definition of fun involves banging your own head under a pot and calling it music doesn't mean everyone must stoop so low."

"I was six!" And he'd only wanted to know what it was like, _being_ the drum! But fine, if Vergil wanted to use childhood secrets, two could play that game. " _You_ told me you'd invented a game and then made me reorganize the living room so the books would be alphabetical."

"You say it like climbing up to the highest shelves didn't send your little thrill-seeker heart fluttering." 

Vergil was smirking now, just _glowing_ because he knew he was right about that, and he was enjoying it. So okay, maybe Vergil did know how to have fun… at Dante's expense. Lady threw him the flask, like she could sense his defeat, and he gladly drank from it.

"I still want my proof," she said. "If poetry's fun, then show us. Give us a poetry game."

Was she serious? They had Vergil half-drunk and potentially easy to dare into all manners of antics, and she wanted him to suggest _a poetry game_? Did that even exist?

Vergil bristled, then blushed, the _stammered_ "It's n-not--I mean… That is…" He trailed off, and Lady's eyebrows shot up, her entire expression a challenge. Vergil's lips thinned, and when he spoke again, there was a hint of shyness in his voice. "The games themselves serve only as a framework. It's the play of words that is fun, the permission to do as one wishes, of creating something meaningful while meeting the challenges set by the game."

"Sounds like your kind of fun all right," Lady replied, stretching out. She didn't even sound like she was mocking him! "So do it."

A sharp laugh escaped Vergil and he held a little tighter to Nero. "I'm not a poet."

"So what?" she asked. "It's for fun! Pass him the flask, Dante."

Dante chugged some more before he did, because damn, if he was gonna have to deal with poetry tonight, he better be hammered. Shit was he not one for fancy images and opaque words. People ought to just say what they meant instead of trying to be pretty about it.

(Still. He was kind of curious what his brother was going to come up with.)

Vergil took another quick sip, not lingering this time. "One simple game is to turn an acrostic poem by turning the letters of a person's name into verses representing them, such as…

 _Devils may cry upon seeing you_  
_All clad in red; twin guns blazing._  
_Nevertheless, no one denies_  
_They are pitiful fools, easily impressed  
__Even by the lousiest scum, sufficiently well-dressed._ "

Vergil paused at times between the lines, clearly composing as he went, and his blue eyes shone in the firelight as he fixed them on Dante, his subject all too clear. Lady was stifling her laughter as he went, but the moment he finished, she let loose.

"You're right, that _is_ fun!"

"This is no poem, that's just an insult!" Dante protested.

His complaint was met with a thin, smug smile. "The two are not mutually exclusive, little brother."

"Oh yeah? Then how's this:

 _Vast is my idiocy_  
_Ever stretching to new horizons  
__Redefining the largeness of the sea._ "

Dante paused, out of words. Shit, this was hard. But actually kinda fun, too, especially with Vergil's eyebrows rising a little more at every new line. Dante grinned as he went on.

" _Grandiose is my vocabulary._  
_If only it was more than a front!  
__Letting me hide… the stick up my ass!_ "

Dante finished by jumping up to his feet, spreading his arms out with a flourish. Lady's laughter filled him with pride--sure, that was probably shit, but he'd at least manages to cobble something, and even Vergil was chuckling.

"Now I want mine," Lady complained in a playful tone.

"And risk being shot over it?" Dante asked. "No way!"

" _Lethal strikes;_  
_A staccato of bullets._  
_Demons crumble  
__Yielding before her might_."

Vergil recited without even pausing, launching into it with a dramatic tone, every word laced with exaggerated awe. He finished with a curt nod, then handed her back the flask and added, "You'll forgive me if it doesn't rhyme."

"Hell yeah. You're good at this."

"Why does she get a nice one?" Dante asked. 

He should have expected this. From the moment these two had stopped trying to kill each other, they'd gotten along swimmingly, in all kinds of weird and unexpected ways. 

"I, too, like my head intact."

"Glad to know you boys still give respect where it's due!"

Dante snorted. "So compliments work on you after all, huh? Never would've guessed."

"Maybe your brother just knows how to talk to women, unlike _you_."

"As if!" Dante said, throwing his hands up.

"He's got the proof sitting right in his lap," she said, gesturing at Nero with her flask.

Vergil jerked up at that (had he been falling asleep?) and a deep flush rushed to his cheeks. "I didn't--"

"You must have busted out the charms at some point," Lady said.

"Yeah, I'd _love_ to hear that story." Partly because then Lady would be off his back, partly because he still couldn't imagine Vergil doing any sort of flirting or being nice to strangers. Then again, a few months ago he'd never have imagined him being remotely decent with a kid. 

Vergil's shoulders hunched, his entire body wrapping tighter around Nero. "We're not talking about this."

"C'mon Vergil! Why not?"

"Because _we're not_ ," he snapped. "I'm going to put Nero to bed." 

He stood up in a hurry, and immediately pitched forward (hells, he could not hold his alcohol _at all_ , could he?). Dante rushed in, catching Vergil's shoulders before he could fall right into the fire. At least he hadn't let go of Nero in the slightest. Dante gently stabilized him while he muttered about being just fine, as though he wasn't swaying dangerously on his feet. 

"You're drunk off your ass," he said. "Sit down. I'll get the kid in his bed."

At first, Vergil clenched Nero tighter and refused to budge, only glaring even harder. Dante had to coax the kid out of his brother's arms, promising he wouldn't drop him (like his balance wasn't a thousand times better). Vergil muttered about the pyjamas being on the sleeping bag, and washing his face, and to keep the hoodie on, and to kiss him goodnight, too, slowly leaning forward until he rested his forehead on Dante's shoulder. He was gonna fall asleep there if Dante let him.

"I got it, bro. Just sit down."

He guided him down with a firm hand on his shoulder and glanced back at Lady. With a sigh, she stood and sidled closer to Vergil, motioning for Dante to go. 

"Just don't ya go spillin' all the feels like your brother always does," she warned Vergil.

Nero heavy in his arms, Dante left the campfire's warmth, striding towards the tent. The kid shifted a little, his hood falling off, and Dante ran a hand through his soft hair. He was never around for Nero's bedtime: the implicit agreement with Vergil was that he left when the meal was done, because he'd be in the way of chores. And because they often were near ready to kill each other again (Vergil always on his ass for one fault or another, Dante pushing his buttons right back so he'd loosen up a little). Camping… camping might've been an attempt to nab some more Nero-time (and maybe, _maybe_ prove himself, but he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to help with chores at all). Dante was glad he had his share of drink too, 'cause he was pretty sure otherwise he'd be way more nervous about fucking it up. As it was, he fumbled until he found their little lamp, set Nero down on tiny sleeping bag, and changed him again (twice in a day! he really was the best uncle here). Outside, Vergil's voice rose above the crackling camp, quiet and all wrong.

"I didn't charm her," he whispered. "She…" 

"You don't have to talk about it," Lady said. "Gosh, you're drunk."

Dante couldn't help unzip a window to peek. Vergil's silhouette was black against the fire, and his usual stiffness had been sucked out, leaving him all floppy. He'd leaned against Lady's shoulder and she was glaring at him. Yeah, Dante was definitely dragging his ass to bed right after. He finished slipping Nero in his tiny little pants and tucked him in. Fluttery blue eyes opened, glazed and confused.

"Da'?"

"He's comin' kid, dontcha worry. Says he loves you."

That hadn't been on Vergil's list, but whatever. It was true anyway. Nero closed his eyes with a tiny smile, his fingers wrapping around the edge of his sleeping bag. Fuck, but he was cute. Being a part of this family was a constant battle, but Dante wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

"I miss Nero," Vergil declared outside.

"He was in your arms just a minute ago," Lady replied with a laugh.

"But I miss him. I'm so afraid when he's not there…"

 _Woah_ , Vergil admitting to any sort of fear was a whole new level of drunk. Dante stumbled out of the tent, and found Lady staring at him as Vergil went on.

"He's everything now, everything I have, and I-I don't even understand how that's possible. How this mere child could just--" 

He choked and Lady gave him an awkward pat, her gaze never leaving Dante. "He's overflowing, Dante."

Unspoken words: do something about it. Dante strode to his brother, grabbed him under the armpits, and lifted him up the bench, grinning at Vergil's offended yelp.

"Dante! What are you--" He extricated himself to whirl around, almost falling at the sudden spin. Lady snorted behind. "I was having a conversation!"

"Nah, you were spillin' really sweet stuff you'll regret bein' open about in the morning. I'm saving Prideful Vergil from Drunk Vergil." He slung an arm under Vergil to steady him. "C'mon."

"I don't need saving," Vergil mumbled.

Yeah, he kept saying that, but he'd needed to be caught before he flung himself into Hell, he'd needed food and company thrust upon him while he was struggling with Nero, and now he needed someone to put him into bed. And all these times? Dante had been the one to do it.

"Bro, in the state you're in, you're two seconds away from tellin' me you love me. You need saving."

Vergil leaned heavily upon him with a soft chuckle, a sound so warm it sent a jolt coursing through Dante. Then Vergil started reciting, a whisper snaking around Dante's heart, squeezing tight.

" _Don't be fooled by sass and easy smiles,_  
_A cover for the deepest heart._  
_Never stops spreading love,_  
_Through demon hordes and bitter Hell,  
__Even to those thrice unworthy_."

Well. Dante liked this one a lot better than the first, even if it wasn't nearly as funny. He squeezed Vergil's arm.

"You're not unworthy."

Vergil spun on himself and gripped Dante's forearms hard, meeting his eyes. "Say it again."

Blood rushed against Dante's temples, beating hard and fast. He wasn't sure he liked Drunk Vergil; he was too raw, too unfiltered, too fragile. Dante cracked a smile at him. "Maybe if you say you love me, I will!"

Vergil scoffed, and he met Dante's smirk with a sneer (bless this, they were back to pretending). "Learn to read poetry, Dante."

"Ugh, and deal with all those words?" he asked, before guiding Vergil inside the tent and pushing him down on his mattress, next to Nero. "That's too much braining for me."

Vergil laughed again, the sound barely audible, then he set one hand on the kid-shaped bump besides him and closed his eyes. "You can go, Dante. I'll manage."

A questionable statement, that, but Vergil was getting a bit too much for him. He didn't want to be around if he slipped back into mushy mood. So Dante gave a little prod to his brother's foot, said "don't forget to remove your boots", and hurried out of the tent.

The short distance to the fire wasn't nearly long enough for Dante to come up with a good quip, so he sat down next to Lady in silence, motioning for the flask. She handed it over.

"That was…"

"Fun," Dante said, taking a long and deep drink from the flask, letting the familiar burn of it wipe away his lingering unease. "But we're never doin' it again."

Lady laughed, then lifted her knuckles and tapped them against the flask, as if she was holding her own drink. "Agreed."

Dante stretched his legs out and lost himself to the fire and the pleasant buzz in his head. Even though Spardaghetti only happened once a week and the rest of his life was the usual pizza-demon-booze routine, it felt like his entire universe had shifted when Vergil had first knocked at his door. And it _was_ for the better, even when some days the chasm created by their bloody rivalry felt impossibly wide, unbridgeable even by their shared love of a tiny, smiling toddler. They would always be at odds, Vergil and him, but if tonight was anything to go by, they loved each other all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disaster Dad AU Vergil is definitely a lightweight hahaha ~
> 
> Y'all, I can't believe I actually wrote shitty poetry for this fic. Please don't judge, I have exactly no idea what it's worth -.- (well, not, I made Dante's purposefully bad). Totally wrote this bit while shoving marshmallows in my mouth, by the way. XD


	3. Toilet Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vergil wakes up to a tremendous headache and the realization that he fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed it, I updated Chapter 2 earlier this week as a bonus update! Go back and read first. :)

Vergil woke to Nero's screaming laughter and a splitting headache. The tent was hot and stuffy despite the occasional breeze drifting through the unzipped windows and he was fully dressed right on top of his sleeping bag. It seemed he had at least managed to remove his boots, though why he'd stopped there was beyond him. Vergil groaned and rolled over, trying to piece together the previous evening. He remembered poetry by the fire, acrostics of poor quality they'd pushed him to conjure, laughter, the dizziness of standing up… Vergil rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn't drank a lot, all things considered, but it had hit exactly as hard yesterday as it had the first time, leaving him a bubbling mess. At least Dante had moved him to the tent before he made too much of a fool out of himself. It was surprising that he had not abused this opportunity to collect material for later mockery, but Vergil was grateful for the consideration.

He crawled out of the tent, squinting against the too-bright sun, and dragged his body to the camping stove, where Lady watched over the grilling sausages. A quick survey of the immediate campsite did not reveal his son.

"Where's Nero?"

She smirked at him "Looks like you survived the night after all!" she said brightly. "He's with Dante on the beach."

Her voice sent lancing pain through his skull, so he limited his reply to an affirmative grunt. His throat was dry and clammy anyway, and he was in no mood for words. Lady laughed and shoved a cup into his hands. The moment the scent of fresh coffee hit his nostrils, his mind seemed to unwind, perking up.

"You brought coffee?" he asked.

"Of the shit insta variety, yeah. It's black, no sugar."

"As it should be." Vergil breathed in the smell, then his mind caught to the significance of any gift from Lady. "How much is _this_ gonna cost me?"

"You get me a gift card for the high quality stuff, and I'll call it fair."

"The values are not remotely the same," he pointed out.

Lady's eyebrows shot up. "Aren't they? The question is how much you want that cup in your hands _now_ , not what it's worth at the grocery store."

She reached for the cup and Vergil snapped it back, closer to himself. "All right. Gift card it is."

Lady rewarded him with a victorious smile. "Honestly, this is a bargain for you. I'm letting you off the hook easy because your mood will be shit otherwise. To think I believed Dante could outdrink everyone because he was half demon!"

Part of Vergil wished it was true, if only to spare him this morning's awful headache. Not that it truly mattered; he had lived the last eight years without drinking and he could easily return to that. He sipped at his coffee, letting the bitter warmth wake him further. "I'm afraid Dante simply exceeds in pointless and irresponsible endeavours, of which the capacity to absorb so much alcohol without nefarious consequences is but one example."

As if in response, Dante whooped very loudly. "Ya see that kiddo? Ya can just aim for the center."

Vergil frowned. The center? What was he up to this time?

"For the record, Dante's naked ass was not part of this camping deal, and I _am_ charging you extra for it."

"Dante's--" Did he want to know? He had no choice, did he? Vergil clamped down and strode closer to the beach, until he could see down the gentle slope to his brother's latest antics. He was, indeed, pantsless--as was Nero, standing by his side. He glanced at Lady, who was not making any particular effort to look anywhere else. She just didn't seem to care. "What are they doing?"

"Pee training, apparently?"

And suddenly the rest of the scene made more sense. Dante had drawn two targets in the sand, one in front of him, farther, and another closer one, in front of Nero. His own was marked with a wet pool at its center, and Vergil thanked his good timing; if he'd woken a few minutes earlier, he might have found himself watching his adult brother piss while aiming at the bull's eye of his target, and, truly, his life was better for the lack of such memories.

Nero put his small hand on Dante's leg, squeezing to get his attention. "Zio, I gotta pee," he said in a small plaintive voice. Vergil's heart squeezed and he reflexively swept the beach until he spotted Nero's pajama pants and training diaper.

"I gotcha, buddy." Dante swept Nero up by his waist and placed himself a few feet away from the second target. He crouched down, squatting in a way that let Nero set his two feet on his forelegs and that was bound to strain his abs after a few minutes--not that Vergil had any doubts Dante could hold the position. "All right, kid. You can do this. Just hold it steady… aim… and… pee!"

Vergil watched in utter disbelief as his child let loose with a squeal of joy, and a tiny arc of pee reached the edge of the target. Never in all of their training had he seen Nero smile, and although _this_ certainly wasn't the goal, his son had struggled to even hold back and pee on command. Until now, it seemed. The familiar sting of jealousy returned, studding his heart, and Vergil tried to fight it with more coffee.

"All right, kiddo, ya got good technique. Aim just a lil' higher--yeah! There you go!"

Dante cheered as Nero hit bull's eyes, and the child immediately threw his arms up to celebrate, relinquishing any control on what happened below. Vergil choked on his coffee as the spray went left, then right, only to diminish and leak on Dante's right foot and leg. Nero's happy face fell, then, tears welling in eyes and tiny shoulders slumping.

"I--"

Dante interrupted him with a joyful laugh, plopping the kid up and whirling him around so Nero could see him, his grin never faltering. "You were _awesome_!"

"But I--" Nero sniffled.

"You did good, kid," he said again, ruffling his hair. "You think we all got this nailed down the first time? I spent years practicing my aim." 

It was terrifyingly easy to imagine Dante aiming at his toilet from an ever-increasing distance, and even easier and more horrifying to imagine he might be lax about any subsequent cleaning. 

"So I'm not… inept?"

Vergil's stomach sank. Inept. _“How can you be so inept at such a simple thing?”_ Those were his words, uttered in a moment of frustration four days ago. There was no way Nero understood what 'inept' meant, yet he'd clearly surmised the gist of it from tone and context, and he had _remembered_. And now that Vergil looked back, that particular fight over toilet training had been worse than any of those before, and the moment Nero's reluctance and general frustration had turned into a constant string of brutal tantrums. One had to wonder which of father and son was the most inept.

On the beach, Dante let himself fall into a sitting position, never letting go of Nero. "Of course not," he said, and his tone turned jagged and dangerous as he continued, "Vergil told you that?"

Nero responded with a sheepish nod. Vergil's grip on the ceramic cup in his hand tightened, strength coursing through him as his demonic powers surged. The cup shattered, spilling steaming coffee on his pants and bare feet, but he barely noticed. Both Dante and Nero had turned to him at the sound, and his child had buried his head in Dante's chest as if to hide. Vergil's anger swirled--how could he be so foolish? Nero's vocabulary had grown by leaps and bonds over the last two months. _Of course_ he'd understand such an insult, and _of course_ he'd remember. If there was one thing Nero and him shared, it was pride. And now Dante was staring at him, the full breadth of his twin's inadequacy as a father revealed to him, and Vergil could not bear it. He spun on his heel and walked off, into the forest, rocks and branches digging into his soles.

###

Dante gritted his teeth as Vergil spun away, big angry scowl on his face. Boy did he want to run after him, tackle the asshole to the ground, and ask him what the ever-loving fuck he'd been thinking, calling his cute kid inept. He wished it wasn't so easy to imagine Vergil losing patience and flinging big, insulting words around, even to Nero. He sure had no qualms doing it with Dante--not now, but not when they'd been kids, either. But for all the anger spooling in Dante, he couldn't ignore the toddler pressed against him. 

He could deal with his pissy brother later. Dante pulled Nero off his chest, keeping his big hands on his tiny shoulders. "It's all right, Nero. Your da' says a lot of silly shit."

"Is angry. Angry at me."

"Not at you," Dante said, booping his tiny nose. "I know him. He _is_ angry, you're right about that, but it ain't at you."

Nero wiped his nose with his forearm. "You… you promise?"

"Yeah kid. I wouldn't lie to you." Dante picked up Nero and heaved his naked little butt up, standing up himself. "Let's go for a quick dip and clean ourselves up! S'like a reward for peeing good, ya know!"

"O-okay."

Nero still sounded so sad. Dante huffed and withheld a heartfelt swear. "Kid. Was it fun? Ya enjoyed the target game?"

"Yes."

"Then listen to your zio's little secret: cling to the fun and don't let go." All right, maybe that was a little heavy for a toddler. Nero didn't need to learn the universe might wreck his life over and over just yet. "If you had fun I wanna hear you laugh!"

"But zioooo," Nero protested. "Can't just laugh."

"No?" Dante grinned at Nero, and then suddenly dropped to his knees, bringing Nero to the ground, under his ready hands. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to make you!"

Dante tickled the kid, and his smile grew more genuine as Nero wiggled in the sand and tried to bat his hands away, all the while protesting with the "noo ziooo" that had become so familiar. Nero was laughing and smiling now, tiny legs kicking, and by the time Dante stopped, Vergil's anger seemed a distant memory. The sand all over Nero, however, was not.

"See, you can laugh," Dante said. "Ready for water?"

"Yes! Like fish!"

Dante grinned and picked up his gentle little nephew, to lead him into the water. They wouldn't stay long--he didn't want Nero to get cold again--but if Vergil came back in a foul mood, every grain of sand on his son's tiny little bum would be a pretext for a fight.

###

Vergil had found his way to a tiny trail that wound its way along the cliff, the soles of his feet grateful for the break in the underbrush. He'd been striding nonstop for a good twenty minutes now, his demonic powers slowly seeping out of him, leaving only a bitter shame he hadn't experienced since his fingers had clasped around Dante's wrist, putting a sudden and unwanted end to his fall to Hell. Every step by his brother's side had burned through him, hollowing him from the inside. He had _failed._ There at the end, power within his grasp, the achievement of years of work and his only guarantee of a safe future, he had failed.

This… failing Nero… it had felt the same--no, worse. 

Vergil squeezed his eyes shut and breathed out. He needed to calm down. It was a simple mistake, a horrifying one, but it should not make him feel like his life was falling apart all over again. Taking care of Nero had been a struggle from the start, no less than a string of battles that only seemed to change in nature with time. He had _never_ been any good at this, so what did one more mistake matter? But he’d never hurt Nero so directly before, and he hadn’t even noticed… 

Vergil leaned against the closest tree, the rough pine bark scraping his arm’s skin. He clenched the amulet at his neck, his mind drifting back to their small cottage home, the memories more fleeting with time. Surely, their parents had done better by Dante and him than he was doing by Nero. And if he was causing harm… Nero wouldn’t be alone. But--no. No. Vergil refused to entertain this--he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t flee this failure as he had the one in the Temen-ni-gru, warping away as soon as possible.

He had promised Nero love and protection, and he refused to break his word. Whether or not he was utterly inadequate to the task was of no consequence: it was his, and he ought to do his best with it. 

Running into the forest had not been his best idea, not in a thousand years. Vergil briefly pressed the amulet to his forehead, muttered an apology no one could hear, then turned heels and followed the trail, hoping it would lead back to their campsite, to Nero and his own failings, to his chance to do better.

###

Vergil almost ran into Lady as he reached the camp, all geared up with several guns and an empty backpack she no doubt intended to fill. She half-growled at him, muttering something about extra for the broken cup, then she pushed past and was off, wishing him a good day in a tone equally aggressive and enthusiastic. He watched her hit the trail, red boots stomping through the underbrush, all too aware of the two sets of eyes that had also turned his way at his arrival.

Dante and Nero were sitting cross-legged in front of one another, a plastic plate between them, half the sausages spread _around_ it. Despite Dante’s usual smirk, there was a stiffness in his position--boredom and frustration barely disguised. Vergil could guess why: he’d seen the stubborn pout on Nero’s face dozens of times before. Their expressions changed with his arrival, Nero’s closing down more while relief washed over Dante’s.

“Hey, the demon dad has returned to us!” he exclaimed. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Vergil rolled his eyes at Dante’s obvious attempt to pass responsibility to him, but in truth there was something comforting to the fact his brother had been incapable of getting Nero to eat--that he, too, couldn’t always figure out the child. Sometimes it felt like Dante inherently knew what to do to make Nero happy, when Vergil could barely keep him from crying.

“It is a miracle you left any for me,” he said.

Somehow his voice was steady and aloof, with just the usual amount of mocking--nothing like the churn of doubts inside, the anxiety-inducing absence of any real plan to fix what he had broken between Nero and him. Vergil forced himself not to avoid the small child and crouched nearby. And now his heart and climbed into his throat, beating there until he could barely speak past it.

“I saw you pee earlier,” he started, and Nero’s shoulders hunched, like he was waiting for the blow. Vergil gritted his teeth and blundered through a lie. “I was so impressed, I think I broke Lady’s cup and wasted her coffee. I hope she’s not too angry with me…”

Nero’s eyes widened. He held his tiny fork tighter, the bit of sausage at its end wavering midair. “Is… is impressed… happy?”

Gently, all too aware of Dante’s glare--a warning not to ruin this that Vergil absolutely did not need and utterly resented--he brushed aside Nero’s bangs. “It is, Nero.”

A huge smile brightened Nero’s face, then he swung his bit of sausage around, showing it to Vergil. “This is not colazione.”

Dante huffed and gestured at Nero. “He keeps saying that!”

Vergil had to choke down a laugh. He felt so much lighter already, even if he’d need to talk with Nero again--later, when it was just the two of them, when it didn’t feel like exposing his every mistake to Dante. “Colazione means breakfast, Dante,” he said, before turning to Nero. “There are many different breakfast. This can be colazione. Did you want the apple?”

Nero clapped his hands together, then sliced the air with one of them. “Taglia la mela!”

Vergil scanned the camp for his bag, where he’d made sure to keep a few apples safe for Nero. He’d made the mistake of wanting to impress him one morning, and now getting the little monster to eat anything if he didn’t have his apple first was a struggle. At least he’d picked something healthy to play with his fancy demon powers. Dante asked what was going on while he rummaged through the sack, but Vergil only ignored his question, grabbing the first apple and turning towards the pair. 

“Remember, Nero. Don’t move.”

He threw the apple in the air, in a wide arc that’d bring it into the plate in front of him. Wide blue eyes traced its path as Vergil focused his powers, and a dozen miniature summoned swords appeared around the fruit. Nero squealed as they sliced through, cutting the apple into perfect quarters and removing the core from it. When they all fell into the plate, he clapped his hands again with a delighted laugh, and Vergil smirked at the result. It was a pointless use of his powers, one he should restrain, lest an enemy picked up on it, but it was brief and one of the rare times he could so easily make Nero laugh like this, so he’d never had the heart to stop.

Nero discarded the sausage and grabbed the slices, shoving them into his mouth with obvious pleasure. While Dante muttered about the child’s weird choice of favourite food, Vergil slipped into the tent and quickly changed out of yesterday’s clothes, grabbing his boots on the way out. “We should go hiking. I want Nero to see the forest.”

A part of him wished he could spend the day sitting in a tree and reading, but those were childhood daydreams, long since removed from his life. Nero spent a lot of time in the city, most of it at home, and it would be good for him to learn about nature.

Dante stretched out lazily, and for a moment Vergil thought he’d protest and argue for a day of naps--in which case, he’d have been left behind to nap alone. Instead, he grinned and raised a thumb. “Don’t wanna sit here all day either. I can do that well enough on my couch.”

“And yet doing more of it never seemed to bother you before.”

“What else is there to do? I clean up jobs faster than they come and I can only spend so long looking at magazines.” He shrugged, then went and pushed Nero’s forehead gently, smirking. “But I know someone who’s an endless source of fun.”

“Nero doesn’t exist for your entertainment, Dante.”

“Nah, it’s the other way around, isn’t it?” He pushed himself up, casual and smiling, but there had been cutting undertone to his voice that froze Vergil as he pulled his boot on. “ _I_ exist to entertain him--once a week, a single afternoon, and then I better vanish and go back to naps and booze and all that.”

Vergil finished putting on his boot, if only to give himself time to absorb. Neither of them had ever discussed Spardaghetti being once a week, but after an afternoon and dinner around Dante, Vergil usually needed his space and time alone with Nero, and Dante had always seemed almost eager to retreat. That… had grown less true with time, and after he’d been poisoned, he _had_ lingered longer and longer, once even staying long enough for Vergil to immediately clear out the dishes. Most weeks, it no longer felt like a burden; he’d gotten used to Dante’s idiosyncrasies and as he and Nero fought less and less, it became easier to witness the depth of his son’s love for his zio. The constant fights over toilet training and Dante’s easy solution this morning, however, had shattered that progress.

“I don’t need your help more than once a week, Dante,” he said, picking up the second boot. It was a challenge, and he regretted it almost immediately; without Dante, he would’ve no idea where he’d gone wrong with Nero’s toilet training, and he wasn’t ready to admit it. So Vergil forged on, giving Dante no time to reply. “But I’ll think about it. While hiking.”

Nero’s eyes had trailed the two of them through the brief conversation, and Vergil hoped he wasn’t old enough yet to unravel what was being left unsaid in it. Nero would love to have Dante around more often, that much was obvious, and if he decided it _had_ to happen, Vergil would have another crisis in his hands. He put the second boot on with a sigh, knowing already he would find no good reason to keep Dante away but his own comfort. 

“You want to see the forest, Nero?” he asked. “We can climb up there.”

He pointed to the cliff, and his child’s eyes widened. “It’s tall.”

“And the view’s gonna be the bomb!” Dante exclaimed. “Imagine Nero, you’ll be as tall as that!”

"I like tall." 

Nero didn't sound as convinced as Vergil would've preferred, but once they hit the trail, there ought to be plenty of things to distract him. They just needed to get ready. 

"Excellent. You want to play with your zio more, or should we prepare your bag together?" As soon as he finished the question, fear flicked through Nero's expression. He looked back and forth between the two of them, hesitating. Vergil frowned. "There is no wrong answer, Nero."

That did not seem to reassure him. "P-prepare?"

Nero ventured the decision like someone dipping their toe in the water, testing its temperature, unsure whether or not they wanted to dive in at all. Vergil wished he could tell if he was truly hesitant, or if he'd been too afraid to anger him to go play with Dante. He suspected the latter. When Nero was happy, he was decisive and bold with his choices. Vergil had rarely seen this sort of quiet uncertainty after the first few weeks, where they struggled to communicate, fought often, and when Nero had seemed to switch between ghost-like discretion and tantrums. He'd transformed so much in this regard, growing more talkative, more prompt to ask things from Vergil rather than only respond to him. Someone had taught him to be silent before that, Vergil was certain of it--they’d taught him that, but not how to eat with a fork, or wash his hands, or any number of small skills Vergil had easily helped him acquire in a short period of time. He had no idea which of these he _should_ have known, if any, but he'd long since concluded whoever Nero had been with before the demons had somehow been an even worse parent than him. At least he was _trying_.

Vergil forced himself to smile at Nero, pushing back his worries at their fragile relationship and his anger at those who'd come before to focus on the here and now. He needed to do this right, to keep what he had left of Nero's trust intact. "That's good. Let's find your bag, then. We'll make sure you have everything while your zio cleans up breakfast and prepares the camp."

Dante opened his mouth to protest, but Vergil shut him down with a glare. There was barely anything--he suspected Lady had done her share--and he didn't want to attract wild animals by leaving dirty plates or food out. He took Nero's hand in his and squeezed it a little, causing his little monster to look up in surprise. 

"Da'...” Nero trailed off, and Vergil could almost feel him build his courage to speak whatever was on his mind. “You okay?”

Was he--? Vergil had expected any of a hundred different questions about toilet training, or whether Vergil was angry at him, or even about the broken cup of coffee, but he hadn’t thought Nero would _worry_ about him. He looked down at the pale blue eyes examining him, wondering where his child had picked up this sort of concern for others and stilling the urge to blankly lie to Nero. 

“My head hurts,” he said, which was both true, and entirely unrelated to the actual problem, “but I’ll be fine, Nero. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Nero didn't answer, but as Vergil guided him to the tent where they had stored his small backpack, he returned to a more inquisitive mood. They filled his tiny water bottle together, put his hoodie in the pack, a second apple and a granola bar, then he also gave Nero a tiny manual torchlight. There was no way he would need it--they would be back long before dark--but as they built the little pack, Vergil explained the use of every object in a case of forest survival. He had noticed a while ago that if he gave Nero something to hold and explained whatever chores he was doing, he could retain the child’s interest for a while. It worked best with cooking--although Nero _had_ gotten distracted and flung food to the ground before--and it was one of the many ways Vergil had developed to carve more time in a single day. Nero enjoyed contributing and being talked to, and he’d very recently started interrupting with questions, too. 

He remained silent this time, a definitive sign that he had not been completely reassured, but Vergil let it slide. Perhaps they only needed time. Once the backpack was complete, he helped Nero put it on, then retrieved the Yamato from its place at the head of his bed. The katana’s weight was familiar in his hands, yet so strange after weeks barely touching it. Vergil pressed his lips together as he returned it to his waist, where it had spent almost half of his life, guilt threading through his heart. He had yet to find the time to return to his training routine. Another problem to solve, that. He simply could not continue to forego such an important part of himself.

With a sigh, he sought Dante, who’d miraculously managed not to break a single plate _and_ get two bags ready. He narrowed his eyes at them, and Dante spread his arms out.

“I know how to be outdoors! Hunts take you all sorts of weird places.” He picked up one of the two packs and swung it at Vergil, who easily caught the heavy load. “Yours’ got extra water for the headache.”

“How thoughtful.” Vergil had meant to mock Dante, but he couldn’t quite disguise the quick surge of warmth spreading through him. It shone through his tone, so he immediately forged on. “I’m sure that’s why it’s heavier.”

Dante grinned at him but didn’t bother with a reply. He swung his own pack on and headed out of camp. “Let’s hit the trail, brother! Imagine what adventures await us.”

Vergil rolled his eyes and, his hand still in Nero’s, he fell into pace behind Dante. “None, hopefully. I am always quite content with a peaceful day.”

His life had had too few of those, though the source of his turmoil had changed from constant demonic ambush to unexpected tantrums. It was eerie, how he hadn’t seen a single demon from up close over the last two months, and Vergil’s chest tightened as the thought occurred to him. Mundus’s forces had almost never left him alone for such a lengthy period of time. Could Dante’s presence distract them, offering a much more obvious target? Or was something else afoot, far more nefarious? If the latter, and he continued to be lax in his training… Vergil squeezed Nero’s hand, and as they headed into the forest, he promised himself he would find a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP. Sorry Vergil you're still a disaster dad at times, so enjoy the angst about it. 😂 he's trying, he's just... bad at it.
> 
> Next chapter has the fic's title in it :)


	4. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a tiny family climb up a cliff, and two twins have a heartfelt talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why this fic has a French title, this explains why! "Promenons-nous dans les bois" means "let's wander into the wood", by the way. :) It was kind of inconceivable for me that anyone could trek into the woods without singing that, haha. Too much part of my own childhood!

The trail through the wood turned out more pleasant than Vergil had anticipated. At first the three of them walked in near silence, Dante humming to himself while Nero and Vergil followed, the toddler too absorbed by everything around to say much. He kept turning his head left and right, eyes wide, sometimes gasping as he caught sight of a bird or another element of the wildlife. Before long, he’d let go of Vergil’s hand to scamper ahead, though he was thankfully young and small enough that he was easy to keep up with. At one point, Dante spotted two old branches lying on the floor, and he snapped one to create a Nero-sized walking stick, keeping the other one to himself. Nero was absolutely thrilled, and he made sure to stick it into the ground with every single step, likely expanding more energy doing so than he saved by using it.

Eventually, Nero’s fascination turned into a more active curiosity and he started bumbling off the path, running directly into the forest to pick up flowers or sticks or rocks, bringing them back to Vergil or Dante, asking a thousand questions about the moss on the branches, the insects under the rocks, the colour of flowers. Each answer given led to another question, and Dante inevitably turned to Vergil for answers, too. Vergil found himself trying to explain how bees contributed to plant reproduction by pollination, only he could tell that every word out of his mouth confused Nero further. Perhaps he ought to eliminate ‘stamen’ and similarly precise words from his vocabulary for a time. Regardless of whether Nero understood them, his child was clearly enjoying receiving answers, and Vergil was too relieved that he dared asked anything to protest. 

After half an hour, the trail took a steeper incline, and Nero fell silent, focusing on each of his steps. Vergil called for regular breaks, forcing him to drink water and rest, but even so, he eventually dragged his feet so much one he kept stumbling over roots and rocks. When asked, Nero insisted he was fine, but after a few near faceplants, Vergil had enough. The trail was getting rougher, the underbrush encroaching almost entirely on it, and if Nero fell, he was exhausted enough to be liable to cry. He scooped the child up and placed him on his shoulders, ignoring the plaintive “Daaaaa’” it earned him. 

“You said you liked being tall,” Vergil declared, before adding in a whisper, “I bet with that stick, you can poke your zio in the back.”

Dante’s head tilted to the side, but if he’d heard over his humming, he gave no other signs of it. Nero bent forward, one hand gripping Vergil’s hair so tight he started pulling, the other clenching his stick. It wavered a lot, destabilized by the continuous strides and Nero’s lack of strength, and when Vergil sped to get a little closer, it whacked Dante on the side of the head instead of poking him. Nero dropped the stick with a gasp while Dante burst out laughing, rubbing the side of his head and flipping around, striding backwards. 

“Your old man already teachin’ you swordfighting, kid?” he asked. “He _would_ make me the first target.”

“You’re the one who brawls with him all the time.” Vergil bent and picked up the small stick, giving it a practiced twirl. “You even provided his first weapon.”

Dante snorted. “He’s more dangerous with that marker than you’ll ever know.”

Vergil couldn’t help his proud smirk at that. He returned the stick to Nero while Dante once more turned their back to them, either confident he would not be smacked a second time, or unbothered if he was. Nero didn’t make a second attempt, keeping the branch close, setting it on top of Vergil’s head and through his hair in a way that strikingly reinforced his continuous headache. 

And as if that needed any help, Dante burst into loud singing, belting out a children’s rhyme about a wolf in the wood, modifying the lyrics to make it about a devil instead. Vergil tried to ignore the new knots forming in his stomach as childhood memories returned: Sparda had often sang this for them, an old French rhyme he loved and had translated clumsily for his sons. He’d had a deep voice, melodious and cavernous all at once. 

Dante went through the loop a few times, each louder than the first, before leaping on a tall boulder and turning to them. “Come on, Nero, sing with me!”

Then he was off again, repeating the same four lines about traipsing in the woods while no demons lurked, (for, the rhyme said, if one was around, it would eat them). Nero giggled, but instead of singing, he said, “But you’re demon. So is Da’.”

“That’s right,” Vergil said, “and we’ll take care of any others that might come near.”

“It’s just a song, you two! Vergil can do the demon.” Dante set his hands on his hips and met his gaze, a challenge in his eyes. “You loved when dad did it.”

“I don’t have Father’s voice.”

“Just be a high-pitched screeching jerk demon, then!” 

Dante grinned, hopped down his rock, and started the song, as if Vergil had already agreed. Nero laughed again, and this time he did try to join in, shouting at the top of his lungs so that Dante’s singing wouldn’t bury his small voice. Half the time he wasn’t properly saying any words, only mimicking Dante, but it mattered little. In the end, the sound wrapped itself around Vergil’s heart, soft and warm and irresistible, and when Dante reached his part, calling out _“Demon, are you there?”_ , Vergil responded immediately.

“I am here,” he said, “I am putting on… my pants!”

He reached up, gently snapping his son’s pants and drawing a fit of excited giggles out of him, along with a little “Oh nooo!”. Then Dante was off again, picking up the rhymes from the start, and Nero hurriedly added his voice to it. Every time Vergil’s turn came, he chose a different piece of clothing to put on--a shirt, socks, shoes, a cap, a beautiful cloak--all the while climbing up the ever-steeper mountain, Dante’s red coat flaring as he kept ahead, their throat dry from the hike and the song.

Then they reached the top, and suddenly the trees parted before them, a small clearing spreading ahead and beyond, the small lake by which they’d camped, water glinting off in the sunshine. Dante finished another loop in the rhyme just as they emerged, and Vergil--a fully dressed demon by then--picked the toddler off his shoulders, briefly meeting Nero’s wide eyes before completing his part.

“I’m here… and ready to eat you!”

And because he was lightheaded from the view, the peacefulness of the march, Nero’s obvious joy… because he had seen their father do the same to Dante and him so many times before, too, Vergil let himself fall to the ground with his child, swiped Nero’s shirt up and blew a raspberry on his chest, drawing a surprised giggles and earning himself a quick and strong kick. He followed it up by tickling Nero’s side, and snorted as the little monster tried to squirm away.

“ _Zioooo_ ,” he called, hiccups and giggles interrupting him. “ _Heeelp!_ ”

Dante only burst out laughing. “Aah, but you let the demon catch you, Nero! Can’t help with that.”

Vergil laughed and released his child. Nero sprinted off, perching himself on the tallest rock and staring at him, eyes as wide as his grin, looking ready to bolt the moment Vergil moved to catch him again. Instead, Vergil remained sitting, his cheeks hurting from smiling so long and hard, and he allowed himself a long, pleased sigh, the morning’s crisis all but forgotten. In the bright sunlight, Nero’s pale hair almost seemed to have a shine of their own, and Vergil knew there was nothing more beautiful than his little monster, not even the view they’d worked so hard to reach. Slowly, keenly aware that both Dante and Nero stared at him, trailing his every movement, Vergil removed his backpack, stretched into the grass, and let the sun warm his skin.

“C’mon, kid,” Dante said. “I think your old man’s gotta rest after his big meal. Ya wanna see the view?”

“From shoulders!” Nero declared.

Vergil listened to their low chatter, his mind drifting as Nero let out small exclamations of awe. He eventually peeked, his smile stretching once more at the now familiar sight of his little monster perched on Dante’s shoulder, one hand wrapped around his zio’s head while he pointed with the other, his new inquisitiveness pushing him to batter Dante with questions. Weren’t kids supposed to ask why all the time? When _was_ that? Vergil was almost convinced there was a specific age associated with it, though as far as he could recall, he may have stretched that period way past its usual length in his own childhood--always with the questions, until one day he started to wonder if they made him seem ignorant and stopped asking. He hoped Nero never felt like that.

After a time, Vergil set out their small dinner of nuts, egg sandwiches, apples and other fruits. They stayed on top of the cliff for a while, the wind buffering them, the day and view beautiful. Nero wandered around, sticking near to the forest after Vergil scolded him for coming too close to the cliff’s side, and Dante came to sit near Vergil. He _acted_ casual, but the moment he settled by his side, Vergil tensed. Dante wasted no time confirming something was up.

“Ya can’t call your kid inept ‘cause he’s strugglin’ to learn shit.”

Vergil’s hands balled into fists. He stared ahead, his throat tightened, his shame surging in waves. Dante’s voice had lost its usual carefreeness, turned all sharp anger, and in turn Vergil felt himself hardening against the blows. He stared ahead, jaw clenched.

“I ain’t jokin’, Vergil. I can take your shit and dish it back, but he’s only three. You’re his fucking father. He was _so hurt_ \--”

Vergil turned sharply away, words hitting too close to home, shattered through what little armour he’d naturally conjured. He knew he’d failed Nero, had messed up in an irremediable way. “Dante--”

“No, you listen to me--”

“I know what I did, Dante!” The words flew out, torn from him, wild creatures of feelings he’d had no time to reconsider, to tame. Dante stilled, perhaps taken aback by the anguish in his voice. Vergil fixed his eyes on the clouds far, far away. “I _know_ I’m a poor excuse of a father. I do not need you to tell me.”

“That’s not--”

“Please.” Vergil sliced through the protest with the word, cold and sharp. He forced himself to face Dante at last, to meet the unnatural serious on his twin’s expression head on. “I am. Good parents are prepared, and patient, and kind, whereas I'm…” He gestured vaguely through the air. “But we are all Nero has, and I’m afraid it will have to do. You should come more often.”

“W-What?”

“A-An additional time per week, perhaps?” Vergil stammered before offering a brief smile. He felt like his heart was trying to escape through his throat, but he’d known from the moment he’d told Dante he’d “think” about a second Spardaghetti that this would be the right decision. What he’d lacked was the courage to enact it. “As I said… we are all that Nero has, and it seems to me that when I err, _you_ know what I should have done.”

“Woah.” Dante crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “You feelin’ all right in that head o’ yours, Vergil? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re payin’ me a compliment _and_ admittin’ mistakes all at once!”

“Dante.” Vergil threw him a withering glance. This was _exactly_ what he was doing, and he would rather that Dante not rub his face into it so thoroughly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha.” He threw an arm around Vergil’s shoulders and leaned into him, as if they hadn’t been on the verge of fighting a few seconds ago, and all was well in the world. Typical. He didn’t have a grudging bone in his body. “I’d love to come by, but I ain’t doin’ it unless you tell him you’re sorry. Ya know he thinks you’re angry at him?”

“I-I know.” Vergil closed his eyes again, wishing Dante’s arm was elsewhere than around his shoulders, that he could have this space to himself, to think and calm down. As it was, it was certain his twin could feel every ripple of tension through him. “I intend to apologize once we are home and alone again. I… I would like it if this incident did not ruin our time camping.”

“Sure, all right.” Dante squeezed his shoulder, then slunk away, jumping back to his feet. “Ya know, the first night you knocked on my door, I really thought the poor kid was doomed. But I don’t think you’re a shit father. As far as I can tell, kid’s loved and healthy, and--” Dante paused, his head whipping about. “And gone?”

“What?” 

Vergil sprang to his feet and spun around, searching the small clearing. Nero was nowhere to be found. Panic clamped down on his heart and his gaze snapped to the cliff--but, no, that wasn’t possible. If Nero had fallen, he would’ve screamed. Vergil would know. He would’ve snapped time to a freeze and jumped after him, saved him somehow. Nero must be in the woods nearby. 

“He can’t have gone that far,” Dante said, echoing his own thoughts.

It was true. Vergil knew it was true. But Nero was small, much too young to be left alone, and his legs were tired from the hike up, and--and--why had he ever stopped watching, even for a few minutes? What had he been thinking? In three long strides, Vergil had reached the start of the trail, ready to run down its length--then he stopped himself. 

What were his chances, if he sprinted blindly through the forest? He needed to breathe, to stop the panicked circles of his mind, to calm himself and _think_. Vergil closed his eyes and reached inside, to his devil trigger and the cold, soothing power that came with it, and he let the energy course through him, an icy shower that cooled his thoughts. It didn’t ease the vice in his chest, but it helped. 

Slowly, Vergil pulled out the Yamato and let his wings flare above it, protecting it from the sun’s glare. There wasn’t a hint of blue on it; wherever Nero had gone, he wasn’t _that_ close, either. 

“We may need to split.”

“Right. Sweep time. Take one side of the trail, I’ll take the other. Meet back every twenty minutes at the trail. We should be able to track each other through our demonic auras well enough.” Dante’s own power surged as he shifted into his devil form, and he met Vergil’s obvious surprise with a grin. “Lady and I don’t like leavin’ any lil’ buggers behind, and not all of ‘em will rush ya if you don’t go looking.”

Vergil nodded. Methodical plans weren’t usually Dante’s realm, but perhaps Lady had managed to impact him to some extent. Either way, he appreciated this one. It grounded him, made him feel like he had a measure of control. “Thank you, Dante.”

“Ten bucks we find him up a tree havin’ the time of his life and pretending he could’ve come down at any moment.”

The image brought a brief, soft smile to Vergil’s lips. Nero was too young for such a climb still, but he wouldn’t put it past his little monster to have tried. It helped, to have Dante so calm about this, so certain there would be no big problem--no lethal injuries, no demons snatching his son away, nothing to leave a lasting impact. Vergil could only hope his twin was right. 

“Let’s go,” he said, diving into the thick underbrush on the right side of the trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI CLIFFHANGER. SEE YOU NEXT WEEK FOR PANICKED DADGIL CONTENT.


	5. Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vergil tramples through the wood searching for his son and learns a brand new skill.

Vergil pushed through the woods, and what calm Dante’s confidence had brought him eroded quickly, chipped away every time he called Nero’s name and received no answer, or stopped to shadow the Yamato and found it as dull as ever. Never in his life had he thought he’d use that word for the beautiful blade Father had entrusted to him, yet now the absence of soft blue light seemed almost a crime, an ugliness he hated more every single time. Vergil covered as much ground as he could, often leaping up and down large boulders as he approached the steeper side of the cliff, but found no sign of Nero. Every passing second, the stake in his heart plunged a little deeper, hurt a little more. By the time he looped back towards the trail, he knew he’d be late to the first meeting and prayed he’d find his brother with a healthy toddler in his arms.

Alas, Dante was as empty handed as he was, and had nothing to show for his search but a hoarse voice.

“Take my side this time,” Vergil said. “If he can’t answer, the Yamato would still find him. Switching is better.”

Mostly, he needed to pretend that if they adjusted strategy, they were progressing, getting closer to finding Nero. Dante didn’t protest, just took off right away, and Vergil was glad for it. It felt like every muscle, every nerve, every cell in his body had tightened and tensed, only waiting to explode, and he didn’t think he could take Dante’s usual humour. In all of their time together, Vergil had always known where to find his son, and he was not remotely prepared to lose him so suddenly. It felt like part of his soul had been ripped away from him.

He must have been a good ten minutes into his second round of searching when his gaze caught pale blue plastic through the green undergrowth. Vergil’s heart leaped into his throat and he skidded down the slope, reaching the kid-sized water bottle he’d bought for this trip, now stuck into a root. Vergil snapped it up, blood hammering against his temple, and flared his wing over the Yamato. He almost crumpled with relief at the faint blue tinge in it. He was here, somewhere close.

“Nero!”

He cast his voice out and waited for an answer--one second… two… three. When no sound came, Vergil gritted his teeth and stared at his surroundings. Most people went up or down a slope, and when he searched for signs of passage, he found scuff marks in the ground, broken twigs and snapped plants along the way down. It… it didn’t look like a controlled path, and it _was_ fairly steep, especially for small legs, and--mercy, was that blood on that broken branch? Vergil bounded down the slope, wings tight above the Yamato, his eyes more often on the blade than on the ground beneath his feet. Its shine grew, and Vergil clung to the certitude the Yamato would not react to a dead child. 

“Nero!” he called again, and this time--this time, heavens be praised, a tiny voice answered him.

“Da’!”

It was small and scared and in pain, and Vergil warped himself in the right direction, reappearing on the trunk of an old, moss-covered fallen tree towards the end of the slope. He spotted Nero immediately, a patch of white-red-blue half-obscured by the tree’s branches, like he’d crashed into them and got caught. They clung to his clothes and pack, and scratches covered his arms and cheeks. Blue flames now wrapped around the Yamato, and Vergil used it without hesitation, slicing through the branches with quick and precise movements, freeing his son. Nero burst into tears as twigs collapsed around him, his left arm flopping down.

“It’s all right, Nero. I’m here,” Vergil said, dropping the demon form. “I’m here now. I’m sorry.”

He scooped him up, hugging him close, every single one of his little monster’s sobs sending waves of shuddering relief through him. His legs grew so wobbly he had to force himself to sit down on the trunk, and for a moment he did nothing but hold on tight, letting Nero’s panicked breathing calm down and holding back his own questions. When the worst of it was gone and the tears had dried, Vergil reluctantly pulled Nero away and set him down on the trunk.

“Let me look at you,” he said, and Nero only nodded, too stunned to protest. 

His clothes were torn and dirtied, and under them his skin was already bruising. In addition to the myriad of scratches everywhere, he had a deep cut along his left arm and another at the base of his neck. Vergil fought the bile in his throat, the thoughts of what might have happened, if he’d hit his skull proper, or the wrong part of his spine… None of it looked lethal, but Nero _had_ to be in pain right now, and even that was a difficult thought to accept.

“Do you hurt?” he asked softly.

Nero nodded with a sniffle.

“Tell me where.”

“ _Da’_.” He let out a plaintive whine and Vergil immediately pulled him in again, running a hand through his now less-than-white hair. Nero leaned in, one tiny hand gripping Vergil’s clothes hard. “Sc-scusa.”

Vergil hushed him. “Non scusarti, Nero. It’s fine. Let me take this pack off you.” 

They hadn’t put any first aid in it, and Vergil had left everything back at the top of the trail, but he knew he’d given Nero tissues. He slowly removed the tiny backpack off Nero’s shoulders, careful not to touch the worse cuts, then filched the tiny package out. His son had gone quiet again, the sort of heavy silence Vergil had come to recognize as something being wrong. He didn’t need to ask what this time.

“You’ll be all right, Nero,” he said. “We’ll clean you up a little, then we can go back and take care of everything. “Nose first.”

He helped Nero blow his nose, then went through quite a few tissues cleaning out some of the dirt and blood, helping himself with the water bottle. His child endured it almost without a sound, even if he sometimes flinched when it hurt, and before long Vergil had removed the worst of it. Most scratches had already stopped bleeding, but he’d need proper bandages for the two larger ones. He stored everything back into the pack, sheathed the Yamato properly, then picked up Nero again.

“Nero…” Vergil squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the parts of him that had been so close to breaking snap back into place, and when he spoke again, his tone came out sharper than intended. “You can’t run away like that. Do you understand?”

Nero stiffened in his arms as they started out. His first answer was a loud sniff, then… “But--”

“I can’t protect you if I’m not there, Nero.”

What if he had smashed his head? Broken a limb? Bled out? What if Vergil hadn’t found him? Or only did so hours later? So many things could have gone wrong, and even holding Nero now, a solid weight in his arms, Vergil struggled to believe none of it _had_ happened. Even the two deeper cuts were superficial, all things considered, and while they twisted his stomach with painful worry, he knew Nero would be fine in the end. Nothing, however, guaranteed the same would be true next time.

“Is Da’...” Nero pushed himself back and wiped his nose, even though they’d removed most of the snot there anyway. “Da' is angry?”

Vergil stopped in his tracks. He needed to stop giving Nero reasons to believe he was angry at him. It seemed to be his first conclusion, no matter what troubled Vergil, and one had to wonder if others before him were not partly responsible for it. Even so, he certainly shared the blame; he’d never been the most patient. With a deep sigh, Vergil ran a hand through Nero’s hair.

“No, Nero. I’m not angry. I was scared.” He started off again, keeping a hand on his little monster’s back, pressing him close as he wound his way back up the slope and towards the trail. “Sometimes they are easy to confuse.”

“Da’?” Nero wipe his nose again, then put his small hand on Vergil’s shoulder, near the crook of his neck. He gave a small squeeze, the way Vergil would have if he’d meant to reassure someone, and declared in the most serious tone, “Non aver paura. Sono qui.”

A strange sound escaped Vergil, halfway between a laugh and a choked sob. _Don’t be afraid. I’m here._ Shouldn’t he be the one offering reassurances? And Nero had uttered it with such confidence, too. Vergil squeezed him back, wondering once more how he had gotten so lucky, and how a single boy could bring him both so much trouble and so much joy.

“Thank you, little monster,” he whispered. “I’ll remember that.”

****

###

****

Vergil walking out of the woods with Nero in his arms might just well be the most beautiful thing Dante had ever seen, even if the kid was covered in bruises and scratches. Relief hit him fast and hard, knocking him out of his devil trigger, but Dante didn’t care--he didn’t need it anymore. He bounded down the trail towards them, grinning, and slammed unthinkingly into both, wrapping them into a huge family hug. Vergil stiffened under his arms, but Nero squealed and twisted around, to throw one tiny arm around Dante’s neck. He kept the other by his side, and Dante understood when he saw the long, still-bleeding scratch running along it.

“Zio!”

“Looks like you went off on your own lil’ adventure there, buddy!” Dante exclaimed, before poking a scratch on his nose, pushing the cheerful note in his voice. He didn’t like the look of all that blood (or how it meant the kid didn’t heal like Vergil and him). “Ya gonna tell us about it?”

Nero’s smile faltered at that, but only for a moment. “I saw... ” He stopped, frowned, and turned towards Vergil. “Uccello rosso?”

“A red bird,” Vergil translated. “It is all right if you’d rather speak Italian for now. I will translate for your zio.”

Nero visibly brightened then, and Dante couldn’t help but feel a tad guilty the kid had to change language for him all the time. Although… he did that with Vergil, too, didn’t he? As the weeks had gone by, Nero had spoken less and less Italian, though he did tend to revert whenever he became tired or upset. His little adventure must've stolen the English out of him!

With Vergil providing the translation, Nero started his tale, telling them all about the red bird in the tree, how it’d flown away and he had followed (so it wouldn’t get eaten by demons). From the sound of it, the kid had had his head and eyes up in the air through the pursuit, so when he talked of falling, Dante wasn’t too surprised. Nero fell silent, then, muttering a small “It hurt” in English before nestling back in Vergil’s arms. His father completed what he could.

“I found him stuck through a fallen tree’s branches. I… I think he rolled down quite a bit of slope before he slammed there.” 

The thin film of control Vergil had forced over his voice was more transparent than ever. Damn, but he’d really been panicked earlier. Which, honestly--so had Dante. He sure didn’t relish that feeling of someone grabbing his stomach and trying to pull it through his mouth. He hadn’t felt so wrecked since, well… When Vergil had tried to take his plunge into Hell, before their fingers met and laced together… that had been it, too. It’d barely lasted, and oh boy did Dante have no desire to relive it, or think of it. Vergil might’ve ran away in shame soon after, but he’d taken the damn hand anyway, and he was here now. 

Dante reached out to ruffle up Nero’s feathery hair, trying real hard not to think of what his life would be like without the two of them in it. Focus on the now. No point in riling himself up on what ifs. “Dontcha worry, kiddo, you’ll look super cool with bandages on.” He glanced up at Vergil, then, and added. “So. He doesn’t heal like us.”

“Stating the obvious again, I see.” 

They’d reached the end of the trail again, where their packs had been abandoned in the rush to find Nero, and Vergil promptly set his kid down near one, forcing him to sit while he got bandages out. Dante watched him fumble with them for a moment, snorting as he realized Vergil might have a vague idea of what was what, but he’d clearly barely ever done this in his life. 

“Ya want help?”

“As if _you_ would know more than I do,” Vergil snapped back. “I’ve done this before.”

“Like what, once?”

“Precisely.”

This time Dante couldn’t help his full laugh. He strode up to them, settled by Nero’s side, and snatched the gauze out of Vergil’s hand. “My demon hunting partner’s fully human, remember? Lady thought it might be a good idea if I could do more than watch her bleed out ‘if I ever failed to have her back properly’.”

She’d charged him for the lesson, too, like _she_ wasn’t the one who’d benefit from it. Dante had rolled her eyes and complied, figuring this was the kind of shit that might come in handy--and lo’ and behold, he’d been right. Damn but that felt good (especially since he could show up to Vergil, who was now glaring like he couldn’t believe Dante was better at him at anything). He explained what he remembered to his bro while he bandaged Nero’s cut arm and the back of his neck, and when he was done, he leaned back, contemplating his handiwork. Nice, white bandage, almost as pure as Nero’s hair--but not for long.

“Awesome. You look like a fighter, kiddo! There’s just one thing… Ya got your marker with you?”

Nero sprung to his feet with a grin, but the moment he tried to spread his arms out, he winced, then scowled at his bandage, like he could scold his arm into not hurting. He stomped to Vergil, who’d retrieved the marker from the backpack, and brought it back to Dante. 

“All right, kid. Stretch out your arm--slowly, dontcha go hurting yourself.”

Nero obeyed him, eyes wide. “Perche, zio?”

“It’s a surprise,” Dante said, uncorking the marker.

“Dante, I swear, if you draw something foolish…”

“I only draw dicks on _your_ face, brother,” he promised. 

He placed the black tip on Nero’s bandage. This wasn’t a great surface to write, and he had shit handwriting, but he nonetheless spelled in big, bulky letters: **B-E-S-T N-E-F-E-W**. Nero wiggled under the strikes, though from the way he grinned, it couldn’t have hurt too much.

When Vergil leaned forward to see, he huffed, frustration and amusement mixing in his voice. “You will never miss a chance to annoy me, will you?”

What the demon-loving fuck was he talking about this time? “Can’t write some honest truth on my nephew's arm now?"

Vergil stared hard at him, in that particular I-am-not-amused way, and since Dante had no idea on what kind of crack he was, he just stared back. They held on for a while, Nero stuck between their silent contest, his entire body swinging back and forth in the tension. Then Vergil sighed.

"That is not how one spells 'nephew', Dante."

"Oh! Oh." 

_Welp._ His shame lasted about a fraction of a second, then he pushed it away. He had always been a shit speller, but what did it matter? Message was still loud and clear, wasn't it? It was done, anyway! What was he going to do about it? Dante chuckled and spun the marker between his fingers then handed it back to Nero, who immediately tried to imitate him. He dropped the marker, picked it back up, and dropped again. While he played, Dante turned back to Vergil and cracked a grin.

"That's how it's spelled now!"

"You… didn't know, did you?"

"Look here, Mr. Brains, I never had time to waste learning that kinda shit, and there was no one around to teach me, was there?" He stretched out in the grass, opening his coat wider so the sun would warm his chest. "Don't get yourself in a twist o'er it. S'just one more thing yer dumbass brother's no good with, right?"

Vergil kept staring at him, like this was the most unbelievable thing he'd ever heard from Dante and he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Funny, until now Dante had never cared for the spelling thing--it was just a skill like any other, and one he had zero interest in--but Vergil's insistent look was getting to him, making him feel _lesser_ for it. That sort of judgemental silence would've rolled right off him from anyone else, but the more Vergil and him managed not to fight each other, the more Dante kinda wished he got some respect from his twin. And this? Was the kind of shit Vergil sneered at.

"Dante--"

"Just shut it, Vergil," Dante snapped, surprised by his own sharpness. Shit, he'd left no room to crack a joke in there. And of course Vergil didn't listen, either.

"Spelling is not a marker of intelligence, Dante. It's a marker of one's ability to remember and follow rules." Vergil crouched next to Nero, picking up the once-more dropped marker and returning it to his son's hand, before placing the child's fingers around so he might spin more easily. "We've both always known that was not your strength."

Dante burst out laughing, covering his weird ass relief with mirth. Vergil had made it sound like this was just one more thing about Dante, not some new proof of the older twin’s superiority. Coming from him, that was almost as good as a direct compliment. “S’long as I don’t teach that to our lil’ bud here, huh?”

“I assure you, he needs no help in that department.”

"Good. It'll keep us on our toes."

Vergil's gaze flicked up at Dante's casual use of 'us', but while he gave his brother one long, hard look, he didn't say anything about it. Which--good, because Dante had no clue in hell why he'd included himself in there. He wasn't gonna raise Nero, not even with two visits a week! That was Vergil's job. Dante didn't want that kind of responsibility… even if he kinda wanted to help with it.

They stayed on top of the cliff for a while, breaking out the small lunch Vergil had brought, alternatively trying to teach Nero how to spin the marker. The kiddo gave it his best, but he didn't quite have coordination for it yet, and after a while he flung his marker at the ground with a frustrated growl. It bounced off and rolled away, and Vergil had to warp himself halfway across the cliff to keep it from falling. When Vergil scolded him, he screamed back and burst into tears. Damn, but the kid was tired. He had to be bribed into silence with another apple-slicing show.

Nero spent most of the way back down first on Dante's shoulders, then eventually napping in Vergil's arms. They didn't sing this time 'round, though Dante couldn't help humming to himself again. He loved sharing his voice with the forest, like it belonged there too. This place was giving him its sounds and smells and life; he always figured it was fair to give back a little. Sharing with the forest was a thousand times easier than sharing with Vergil (and boy did Dante wish that wasn’t true).

Maybe it was changing, though. Poetry last night had been a surprise (a nice one, in the end). It had been the first time he’d seen Vergil essentially play at anything since they were kids, and in a way it’d been as weird as first watching him clean his dishes, but Dante had grown to love those moments.

Sometimes he caught himself daydreaming Vergil would hunt demons with him, until he recalled how peaceful he looked, Nero in his arms, like holding the tiny kid close made all the exhaustion worth it. The last thing he wanted was for Vergil to start thinking about demons and power again, to hear them curse Sparda’s name and promise bloody vengeance, on him and all his family. If he ever understood just how much of Dante’s recent devil hunting runs involved keeping Vergil’s specific neighbourhood clean… As far as Dante was concerned, it’d be best if Vergil and Nero never saw another demon, and all their troubles stayed the angry tantrum kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go!! Nero is mostly fine, haha. I have to say, it's kind of rewarding to see how many of you were expecting the worst. XD Guess I got something of a reputation now. ;P
> 
> We only have one chapter left, full of cuteness, winding down, and resolving the plotlines. :)


	6. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the camping trip comes to an end, and Vergil must return home, where potty training and new challenges awaits him and his son.

Nero napped through the rest of the afternoon and well past dinner time. His stomach usually woke him in time for the beloved cibo, but the day's scare must have drained him more than Vergil had initially anticipated. They ate without him, and once she’d lashed at them for getting Nero hurt and forced them to explain what had happened, Lady had filled the quiet with talk of how much she expected to get from what she managed to collect before badgering Dante into yet another job she'd heard of. She additionally went on about how much time she wasted seeking these out, and how she ought to take a bigger cut, or maybe someone else could be looking for these on their behalf, but Vergil wasn't really listening. His mind kept drifting to the cuts on his son's arm, to the panic swirling inside as they'd searched for him, to how easy it'd been to almost lose him. The _what ifs_ haunted him, nudging at his fears, reminded him of how fragile all families truly were.

They dragged his mind directly to the arcane books on his desk, left untouched over the past few months, clues of untold power hidden within their pages. Would he ever fear for Nero's life again, if he had that? Not that he had any hope of achieving anything while watching over a toddler; he hadn't even dared to go for Dante's antidote on his own. Although, perhaps if he could pinpoint the source of power… he wasn't alone anymore. Others could watch Nero, if he knew without a doubt he would not be long gone. And now that Dante would be coming more often, Vergil might finally free himself long enough for training or research.

He hoped he wouldn't regret this decision. Dante had been inordinately responsible over the course of the camping trip, if one discounted his early attempt to drown Nero, but perhaps that was similar to all of Vergil's special permission, only in reverse--perhaps, when it came to his brother, he was _more_ reliable in unique and time-limited circumstances, as if the change of pace suddenly reminded him he was an adult and ought to act like it. It'd made him… unexpectedly agreeable to be around, in ways Vergil had not really experienced since their childhood. Brotherhood was slowly regaining a meaning beyond bloody rivalry, one in which the chasm that had opened between them over the last dozen years could maybe be bridged--one in which Vergil slowly stopped measuring himself to Dante, stopped reaching for impossible standards only he cared about, and shouldn't.

This Dante… Vergil liked him. They sang together like fools in the wood or slung shitty improvised poems at each other. He could risk getting drunk and trust Dante to put him to bed without taking advantage of the overspill. He could just… be himself. Not for long--it was always only a matter of time before one of them crossed a line, flinging them backwards into old dynamics--but Vergil knew that when he'd look back to this weekend, the foolish moments were those he'd cherish.

Right now Dante was allowing him to brood, as he had for most of the afternoon, through the entire meal, and until the sun had set and Nero had risen. They'd put some food in the child, who had excitedly retold his adventure to Lady, going as far as mimicking his fall with a carrot, making a big explosion sound at the end, when "he" crashed into the branches. The tale was disjointed and sprinkled with Italian, but Nero's enthusiastic descriptions and utterly inappropriate sound effects drew laughter from Dante and Lady, so he only kept adding to it. Whatever fright and pain the experience had brought, Nero had forgotten them already, and only a brusque movement with his wounded arm brought echoes of it back. He looked and sounded happy, and Vergil couldn't help but think back to the hundred of times Dante had fallen down a tree or wounded himself with a dangerous stunt, only to laugh at it minutes later. 

Lady eventually broke out the flask again, and this time Vergil carefully refused the offer. This earned him merciless teasing about the previous night and his morning's headache, which he bore as graciously as possible--which, frankly, meant not at all. He glared at them in turn, threatening to slice them down, and the back and forth eventually caused Nero to ask what it was his Da' didn't want to drink, and could he have some? Telling Nero this was a drink for adults only caused him to declare he was an adult, a word for which he clearly had no concept. Still, that could have been the end of the discussion, if Dante hadn't suddenly decided to argue it'd be fun to let him taste it. Vergil mentally scratched everything he'd previously thought about his brother and responsibilities as he found himself engaged in a two-against-one argument about whether or not it was a good idea to allow Nero to taste Lady's alcohol. Nero's tone grew progressively more plaintive and angry, and Vergil could sense the tantrum coming, a wave cresting towards the surface. Then Lady sliced through the debate.

"Let him take a sip, Vergil. It tastes like piss and strong alcohol. He'll hate it and stop bothering you."

Vergil gritted his teeth. He hated the logic in what she was saying and his own desperation to keep Nero from blowing up on them. With a huff, he gestured for the flask. Nero squealed as Vergil received and uncorked it, immediately grasping for it. Vergil let him put his hands around, but held it tight when Nero pulled.

"Nuh-huh. I control the sip on this, Nero."

He couldn't believe he was doing this. With a final glare at Dante, he tipped it back until the liquid sloshed to Nero's lips, then quickly pulled it away. It was easy to know when Nero had tasted it: the child gasped and spit it all out in a spray, letting out the most heartfelt cry of disgust Vergil had heard in years. Dante burst out laughing while Vergil closed the flask once more.

"You were warned, Nero."

"And this, kid, is why you should listen to your dad," Lady said, gesturing for the flask.

Nero kept rubbing his tongue as if to remove the taste, so Vergil handed him his small bottle of water again. Hopefully Dante wouldn’t have more ideas like this one tonight.

Lady turned out to have the next one. As they all sat staring at the fire, Nero and Dante eating through the small marshmallow leftovers, she tilted her head back and declared “I’m going stargazing.”

They all followed her to the beach, to lay down in the sand (far from where Nero and Dante had target-practiced pee training). Vergil had bundled up Nero in his sleeping bag, and as time passed and the cold seeped through his clothes, he was glad for the thought. The child had settled between Dante and him, a scruff of white hair emerging from the hooded sleeping bag, blue eyes catching the starlight and shining. At first, Vergil found himself staring at his son more than he did the stars, but Nero eventually stared back with a confused frown. 

“Da’?”

“You’re beautiful,” Vergil whispered. He caught the way Dante jerked from the corner of his eyes, knew he was being inordinately mushy. A flush climbed into his cheeks, but still he reached out, tracing Nero’s tiny nose with his index finger. Nero caught it with a giggle, using his still healthy arm.

“ _Daa_ ’,” he said, almost like Vergil was embarrassing him. Then he pointed to the stars. “Cosa sono?”

“Stelle.” He turned back to the sky, holding his child’s hand in his. “They are suns, Nero. Far, far away suns.”

“But the sun is big and warm!” Nero protested.

“I know.” He’d attempted to provide Nero with enough explanations today to understand he’d never get him to understand the scope of the galaxy. Vergil tried to come up with something to placate Nero, but Dante beat him to it.

“They’re suns that got knocked down,” he said, casually, as if that wasn’t an utterly ridiculous statement. “And if ya know how to look at ‘em, ya can find out who knocked ‘em away like that. Wanna hear?”

Nero gasped, and Vergil knew his eyes had gone wide. Dante laughed and started pointing at the sky, most likely at a random set of stars. 

“Those are called Sanctominus,” he started, confirming Vergil’s suspicions that Dante had absolutely no intention of discussing real constellations. “They say he was a big dude with a licorn’s head and a shitty attitude. He liked to keep cool, and all those suns were warm and big, like ya said, so one day while he was bathing in the river, he got tired of the suns making the water hot. He gave one big swipe of his horns, and he set ‘em all flying.”

Dante let out a _woosh_ as he spread his arm, drawing an awed _ooooh_ out of Nero. Lady snorted on the other side of them but kept any comments to herself. Vergil, however, huffed.

“Please stop lying to my child,” he said.

“They’re not lies, they’re stories!” Dante protested. Vergil had no need to turn to imagine the shit-eating grin on his face. “Ya like stories, kiddo?”

“Another one!” Nero demanded, and Vergil rolled his eyes. One day, he would need to teach Nero better, but he supposed that until then, he could let Dante’s goofy legends stand. 

Dante picked new stars in the sky, named their jagged pattern ‘Electronius’--Lady grunted in dismay at that--and spouted some nonsense about a being of pure lightning who disliked the suns’ fire. They went on like this for a while, to Nero’s great delight, and Vergil had to grudgingly admit Dante’s imagination was almost limitless. It _had_ always been him inventing scenarios, when they played as children, while Vergil followed with his stories, complaining about contradictions when they showed up. Eventually, Nero’s hand went limp in Vergil’s, and he no longer asked for more stories; he had fallen asleep, bundled up on the beach. The three remaining adults fell silent, gazing up at the stars above.

The evening was warm and soft, tranquil in a way Vergil had rarely known, and before he knew it, the day’s rickety roller coaster of emotion caught up to him. He closed his eyes, hand still around Nero’s, and fell asleep next to this son.

###

The next morning, they packed up to leave. Nero pouted through the whole ordeal, refusing to help, shouting he didn’t want to go home, and preventing Vergil from doing much to help the two others and instead try to calm his tantrum child. This was, it seemed, the price to pay for all the special permission of the last two days, but Nero was in high need of a bath, and they didn’t have sufficient bandages here to redo those on his arm and neck. Trying to explain this got Vergil nowhere, however. Logic had never been a strong argument with Nero, especially when he was upset. With a sigh, Vergil crouched next to his little monster. 

“We may return next year,” he said, and all of a sudden Nero stopped screaming and stared at him. Vergil bit back on a sigh. Was that really all? “Would you appreciate that, Nero?”

“Come back _always_ ,” Nero demanded, crossing his arms and lifting his tiny chin. 

“Every year, then.” 

It felt like a foolish promise. Could they truly have so many years ahead of them, that he could guarantee such a thing to Nero? What were the chances? His life had never been one of peace and long-lasting happiness, and although he would give everything to make it happen, Vergil struggled to imagine himself watching Nero _grow_ , to have him go from a screaming toddler to a young child, from that to a broody teenager. It was a dream, one he dared not hold onto too tightly, lest it crushed him. 

Vergil returned his attention to Nero, beaming at him, then swept his gaze across the camping area. They should do something to mark their coming, to make his promise more tangible. His gaze landed on the cliff’s stone wall.

“Nero, come with me.” He grabbed the toddler’s hand, leading him all the way to the stone façade, and the area where sand gave way to a rocky, flat ground, at the bottom of the cliff. “Take off your shoes.”

“Da’?”

Vergil crouched and helped him out of them, storing the tiny socks in them for the moment. Nero still had that slight, confused frown, but he let Vergil handle him without another word. Once he was barefoot, Vergil set a hand on his shoulder and tried to give him a reassuring smile. 

“Now put your back against the wall, stand straight, and look at me. Don’t move.” While Nero obeyed, Vergil stepped back and reached inside, to the familiar pool of power. He conjured a blue sword, and Nero’s eyes widened. “This is like the apple, Nero. Just don’t move.”

Slowly, under the shocked gaze of his child, Vergil sliced through the rock with the summoned sword, cutting precisely above Nero’s head and marking his height. The line was thin but briefly blue, and when Vergil released the sword, he could still see its mark clearly. 

“Done,” he declared, then he gestured for Nero to come closer. The child ran to him, then looked back. “This is how tall you are right now, Nero. When we come back next year, you’ll be even taller. And the year after that.” Vergil ran a hand through Nero’s white hair wistfully. “We’ll keep track until the day you are as tall as your zio and me.”

Vergil didn’t know if that’d ever happen. By human standards, Dante and him were towers, well above average heights. But Nero had a little bit of demon in him, too, so it wasn’t impossible that he’d grow to match them. Vergil could only hope he would get to find out.

###

Home felt different after two days in the forest--less oppressive, less marked by his personal shortcomings. He had been right in hoping the short camping trip could serve as a partial reset button, tearing Nero and him out of their spiral of fights. The boy ran off to his pile of blank paper sheets as soon as they stepped inside, black marker in hand, clearly eager to draw for the first time since their departure. Vergil set their new acquisitions down: several pee mats for dogs to spread around the training pot, a puzzle of brightly-coloured birds to stack in specific ways while he sat on it, and a book Vergil could read to him--anything to make toilet training less boring, and hopefully make progress. While Nero drew, Vergil unpacked their clothes and gear, started the laundry, and prepared the area around the pot. 

He had just finished when Nero trudged up to him, drawing in hand. This one had a big circle in the middle, with a stick-like line out of it, and all around where other lines that could be trunks. It was still difficult to tell what Nero was drawing, if anything, but Vergil’s fight thought upon receiving this one was ‘fruit’. A faint smile quirked his lips.

“Till it bore an apple bright,” he said, and he inscribed it on Nero’s latest work of art. 

They placed it room on the increasingly covered walls, then Vergil brought his son back to the pot. He sat down and knelt down so they would be eye level. Nero must have sensed his mood, because his smile vanished and he hunched his shoulders. His eyes slid towards the pot and he pressed his lips.

“Nero…” Vergil’s stomach tightened. They had reached a good balance while camping, and he didn’t want to ruin it. He needed to do this, though, to repair what he’d broken. He put a shaky hand on Nero’s tiny shoulder and waited for his little monster to look up. “I’m sorry I called you inept. You’re not. That was wrong, and I hurt you. I hope… I hope you can forgive me.”

Nero stared at him, and for a moment Vergil thought he’d lose himself in the shocked blue eyes. “F-forgive? Perdonare?”

“Y-yes.”

Vergil held his breath. A year ago, he would have scoffed if anyone had told him he would find himself kneeling, waiting for a toddler’s forgiveness. Yet right now, little felt more important.

“Are you… are you angry?”

“No, Nero. I’m not angry at you.”

And then his little monster threw himself into Vergil’s chest, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing. Vergil exhaled slowly and rubbed the child’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Nero. I know toilet training has been difficult.” He regretfully peeled his son away, so he could look at him. “But you did it with Zio Dante, and I know you can do it again. So I bought a few things to help us out.” He showed them to Nero, explaining the idea calmly, and the knots in his stomach loosened as excitement gained his child. This might work. He wished he’d thought of it on his own, but at this point, Vergil was even willing to concede he was grateful for Dante’s help. When they’d gone over the new toys, Vergil asked “So, what do you think, Nero? Do you want to try again?”

Nero beamed at him and set his hands on his hips. “I can pee, Da. I will.”

Relief and pride mixed within Vergil. He smiled back at his son, all determination and confidence now, the opposite of how he’d been two days ago, before they’d left for the woods. It wouldn’t happen right away, he knew that, and they might even fight again once Nero fumbled a few times, but they’d make it work sooner or later. He picked Nero up, kissed the top of his head, and breathed in the child’s soft scent.

“I believe you, Nero. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, THE END. 
> 
> At least for this fic! The series is already much longer than that. I posted Disaster Dad 3, 4, and 5 during Gen Week at the end of July/early August, so if you've been waiting for this to end, you can catch up now! It'll bring you all the way to Christmas.


End file.
